


Love of Ours

by emeraldine087



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Eventual Relationships, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Angst, I Love You You Love Him He Loves Me, Inter-dimensional travel, It's a Shitty Situation All Around, M/M, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Off-screen legal assumptions, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Polyamory, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Rating May Change, Rhodey Is a Good Bro, Romance, Sloooooooooow Build, Stephen Strange is a good bro, Steve Rogers Feels, Stubborn Steve, Stubborn Tony, Suspension Of Disbelief, Temporarily Unrequited Love, The Author Regrets Nothing, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Hates Magic, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, not quite Spider-Man: Homecoming-compliant, questionable science, sappy dates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2018-07-27 07:00:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 40
Words: 253,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7608316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldine087/pseuds/emeraldine087
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony Stark REALLY hates magic with a passion. He knows it's got something to do with how his memories aren't quite as he remembers them. He knows Steve screwed him over and sent him that shitty apology with an even shittier phone. And he is <i>pissed</i> supposedly with no end in sight and no resolution to be had. And yet, he also has this other set of memories - One where he is madly in love with Steve...</p><p>Steve Rogers REALLY feels like things with Tony could've gone a lot better. So he stubbornly stays in the Avengers compound to try to set things to rights, vowing to repair his Avengers family and his friendship with Tony. And yet, his endgame is still to help Bucky get rid of the Winter Soldier programming - Help his first and the one true love of his life to find himself again...</p><p>Bucky Barnes REALLY loathes having to rely on others to tell him about his life. Steve is a big help, but sometimes, Bucky feels like Steve's after helping him for the benefit of the person he used to be rather than the person he is. Unlike Steve, Tony doesn't give a shit about him. And yet, it's with Tony that he feels like he can be or do anything - Like fall in love with the man he had orphaned all those years ago...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 01. TONY

**Author's Note:**

> My first attempt at STUCKONY!!!! Yay for me!!! And it's gonna be another long one (someone shoot me for always getting into these slow-build, long-as-fuck stories). And I'm making a Post-CA:CW one (and we all know how bat-shit crazy the relationship of these three is based on that movie, like what the fuck am I thinking really?). But I really feel like there's something there. The relationship can be salvaged and turned into something resembling something beautiful...
> 
> SHORT SUMMARY OF THE STORY: Tony Loves Steve. Steve Loves Bucky. Bucky Loves Tony. It's a shitty situation all around. And there's fluff (of course, there's gonna be fluff, I mean, look who you're talking to!!!) But the endgame is a three-way polyamory relationship. Because these three need each other, really.
> 
> Be gentle, it's my first foray into OT3 (i just love challenging myself! Hu-ha!) Un-beta'ed. Kudos and Comments will be placed lovingly in a special compartment of my beating heart. I will try to update every other Friday or depending on how quickly I can write given that I have two Cap-IM BB 2016 potential entries in the works, two more Stony AUs in the pipeline, two one-shot Drarry WIPs, three more Drarry post-Hogwarts stories also in the pipeline, and a full-time career as a corporate lawyer--I know I'm nuts... 
> 
> As always, though, ENJOY!!!  
> \---

=======

_ ‘tis twisted _

what is this before us  
          --this sick and twisted thing  
          where I'm in love with you  
          but you're in love with him?  
  
i cannot let it go,  
          this feeling that I have;  
          I do something stupid  
          and seek the one you love.  
  
but as fate would have it,  
          he falls in love with me;  
          thus, we find ourselves here  
          in this affair for three.

_-emeraldine087_

_=======_

How many times had Tony Stark wanted to use The Phone, he’d lost count. He’d wanted to prank call it, dial the one number on its phonebook and scream his lungs out at the person on the other end, cry into it while blathering apologies that are not-apologies because Starks didn’t do apologies, or just… narrate how his day had been whether or not the person at the other end of the connection would actually stay on the line to humor him.

But Tony never did. He kept The Phone in the locked bottom drawer of a misplaced armoire in his workshop—the one he flat out refused to open or even approach or walk by. He’d considered taking it apart into indistinguishable component pieces because he didn’t want the blasted thing to have such power over him. Because it did—it had _such_ power. To make him second guess himself, make him doubt the position he had once defended. To make him angry and sad and lost and vindictive and remorseful and—

Make him miss Steve Rogers that it _ached_.

Tony found it funny to miss Steve when all that stood out in Tony’s memory was them arguing about something, or calling each other out on their respective bullshit, or just being the antithesis of each other.

He might have been too generous in his assumption that he and Steve had ever been friends. Maybe that was why it had been just a little bit too easy for Steve to take the opposite side in their conflict—because they had _never_ really been friends…

So one could imagine how much of a complete surprise it was for Tony to find the self-same Steve Rogers looking down on him, a tinge of worry etched in those huge baby blues, as Tony lay on a hospital bed in the Avengers compound’s medical wing for goodness knew how long, and it felt like he was waking up from a long slumber that was anything but restful.

The last time he looked at Rogers roughly from this angle was when Rogers was pounding his fists against Tony. He had really thought that Steve was going to kill him by beheading him with the vibranium shield. But the Captain didn’t… At that time, Tony had thought he was really going to—

“Shit…” Tony garbled through a mouth that was dry as cotton. He didn’t need to request for some water or some ice chips because nurse Steve was ready, brandishing a paper cup with water towards him so he could take a sip through the straw. “What—?” His voice was still raspy from disuse; how long was he out of it anyway? The last thing he could remember was—

What the fuck?! He couldn’t remember anything but sitting in his workshop in the Avengers compound, fabricating a cup holder for Rhodey’s robotic exoskeleton that the latter had been using for therapy purposes since they substituted a regular stint in Atlantic City for semi-regular visits to Columbia University Medical Center instead. Unless he got walloped in the head by an impact drill by accident—which he was pretty positive, he wasn’t careless enough to do—there was no way he had gotten injured in his workshop; and he must be missing time.

Since Tony was still in heavy denial about his present company and he wasn’t nearly as inclined to bombard Cap with questions as he was to spit long strings of colorful invectives, he decided to keep his mouth uncharacteristically shut.

“What is the last thing you remember, Anthony?” Another voice piped up from a blind spot on Tony’s far left, distinctly male with a touch of enigma to it.

God, how Tony hated it when Strange called him by that name because who else could it be but Stephen Strange, Supreme Sorcerer of the Universe or some such horseshit? Tony reminded himself for the umpteenth time that he must have been barking inviting Strange to be a part of the Avengers after they found themselves short two birds, one witch, and one iced-up Super Soldier after the smoke brought about by the Sokovia Accords had cleared. But hey—desperate times called for desperate measures. Tony had not been expecting Strange to acquiesce to the invitation, but the latter did to the genius-billionaire’s utmost surprise.

“I was in the workshop, trying to figure out the best place to put a cup holder on Rhodey’s cutting edge walker,” Tony answered dutifully, mercifully free of his usual sarcasm. Maybe that was because his head was throbbing like a sonofabitch.

“So you don’t remember the stampeding intergalactic herd of deer the size of trailer trucks?” Strange asked again like he was talking to a child. Which was funny because if there had been a herd of big-ass alien wildlife stampeding anywhere near him, Tony was certain he would’ve definitely remembered it.

“No. God…did that really happen? When did _that_ happen?”

“Three months ago,” came Strange’s reply while casually looking at his fingernails like losing three months of a person’s life was commonplace.

Tony was flabbergasted. “What the fu—three months… _three months_?! I’ve been lying here, comatose, for _three months_ ; is that what you’re saying?!”

“Yes.” Boy, Strange sure didn’t believe in sugar-coating anything. “I sent the herd to an alternate reality, but when I seized them from this one, you were hovering too close to them and you were taken out of this dimension as well—or, at least your _consciousness_ was. Your body remained here.”

Give Tony Stark science; give him engineering and hydraulics problems no matter how convoluted and he was sure he could solder his way through it. But this? Strange’s _strange_ language, he was absolutely lost.

“So why am I awake then?” Tony asked, still avoiding what was, to him, the elephant in the room, which was Steve Rogers, sitting beside his sick bed like he had had not been AWOL for the past two—or fine, _five_ —months then, if Tony had really been unconscious for the past quarter of a year.

“That, I don’t know. I cannot say what triggered the return of your consciousness, which is why I’m asking you if you can remember anything. Perhaps something triggered the release from your end?”

“Triggered the release. From _my end_?” Why couldn’t this have been presented to him in a proper mathematical equation with variables and constants?!

Before any more questions or expletives—mostly from Tony—could be issued, the door to the room opened and Clint Barton walked in, followed closely by Natasha Romanoff, Jim Rhodes in his lower extremities exoskeleton, and Vision.

“You were right; Princess is awake,” Clint teased with a snort, cocking his head to look at Vision.

“I detected different readings from your vitals monitors. We came as soon as we could,” said Vision, nodding his head respectfully at Tony.

“How’re you feeling?” Natasha asked, concern unusually tainting her otherwise deadly façade.

“Like I’ve been lying unconscious on a hospital bed for three months,” Tony snidely retorted, reaching for the paper cup of water again, but Steve beat him to it by getting it for him. Tony still refused to acknowledge his presence though; he’d made a mistake with his fresh-out-of-a-three-month-comatose words directed at the Captain, but it wasn’t going to happen again. If Steve’s presence there was going to be discussed, he sure as hell wasn’t going to bring it up himself.

It wasn’t like he was still mad at Steve for what happened during the conflict over the Sokovia Accords and Zemo, no. He’d already had two conscious months of stewing on it. He knew he wasn’t exactly forthcoming either, attacking Barnes with blind vengeance. But it still hurt: to have gone out of his way to help Steve with the matter of dealing with the spare Winter Soldiers, to have found out the way he did about how his mother had died and to still be seen as the villain that needed to be stopped with a vibranium shield to the chest…

But Steve was sorry, if his huge, bright blue eyes directed at Tony were anything to go by, and Tony was sorry, too. But he wasn’t going to grace that fact or their returning Captain with any acknowledgment.

“Rhodey… who’s been adjusting your walker if I had been out for three months then?” Tony asked, digressing.

“Vision’s been a big help, and Steve has pretty steady hands, too.” Rhodey said, with a nod towards Steve. “But I am mighty glad to see you with your eyes open, Tones. You gave us a scare.”

“Yeah well…still doesn’t make it right for you, guys, to call in people who couldn’t give two shits about being here.” Tony retorted, narrowing his eyes at Rhodey and Vision. “What are _you_ doing here, _Barton_? The last time we saw each other, you were behind bars hurling invectives about watching your back around me because I’d probably break it. I would’ve thought you weren’t going to touch any of this stuff again with a ten-foot bow,” Tony practically spat, gesturing to the rest of their company. Clint’s dig about Rhodey’s injury when Tony dropped in on them when they were still being held in The Raft especially stung.

“With Iron Man out of commission and the UN having formalized the amendments to the Sokovia Accords along with our exoneration, we thought we’d haul ass back as the Avengers needed all the help they could get. We’re all here, you know—it’s not just me. Wanda, Sam, and…Cap, of course. Even Scott’s here,” Clint said, nodding towards Steve whom Tony was still pointedly ignoring like the sorest subject there ever was. “We’ve been here about a month now. I hate to admit it, but one does miss some things—”

“—well, I’m awake now. So no biggie. You can all go back to retirement, your families, your BFFs… Sorry to have disturbed you; I don’t even know who gave the order to give you a call, because I sure as hell didn’t issue any standing command that if anything were to happen to me, The Avengers should pull people, who obviously didn’t want to be here in the first place, out of retirement,” said Tony, which he knew was offensively bitter on his part, but who was going to give him flak for it when he was the one who’d had to be left behind to try to pick up the pieces and pull everyone back together? He, who never wanted to be part of the team anyway, who was never even given clearance to be part of the team in the first place because he was too volatile and self-centered.

Clint clenched his jaw and opened his mouth probably to say something equally scathing, but he was headed off by stern but quiet words from Captain America, himself. “Clint— _guys_ —maybe you could give me and Tony a couple of minutes to talk?”

“Yeah…get steppin’, Bird Boy-One,” Tony heckled as the rest of the room’s occupants piled out of the hospital room, including Strange. Clint’s lips curled in annoyance at Tony before he left, pulling the door shut behind him.

Shit. But now, there was just Rogers to deal with. And this was the last thing Tony would’ve wanted to do.

“If you’re still mad at me, don’t take it out on them,” Rogers requested in his usual polite countenance, which Tony’s always hated him for. “Keeping the truth about your parents’ death was on me; I take full responsibility. Did…did you not read my letter? Or maybe you threw it away without reading it—”

“—what do you think I am, five years old?” Tony asked, deadpan. Then with a shake of his head continued, “can’t imagine how you must have labored on what to write in that letter _—‘I’m sorry. Hopefully, one day you can understand’_. Did it never occur to you that I could have understood everything if you had only _trusted_ me that I knew what I was doing when I asked to be the one to take you and Barnes and Sam in? If you had taken the time to explain to me instead of snarking at me every chance you got only because we believed in different things? Or maybe...this is still about Ultron—you didn’t think you could trust me after Ultron…” Tony laughed, humorlessly next. “To think I’ve been bending over backwards, trying to ease the guilt and make up for what I have done wrong with Ultron and all this time, even my own so-called teammates who’d spewed all that drivel about fighting together and losing together had never really learned to trust me…” Tony trailed off again, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. The same tic he’d developed during their conflict—his left arm going numb—was manifesting itself again that he unconsciously reached into his hospital gown to press against his left clavicle to get some feeling back on it.

Rogers had his eyes downcast during Tony’s entire diatribe, his face hard to read. After a period of silence to allow Tony’s fuming to blow over, he tugged on his earlobe and leaned forward, planting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together. “And what would you have done for Bucky, Tony? Would you still have helped him clear his name if you had found out then that he was responsible for your parents’—your _mother’s_ —murder? He was used by HYDRA. What happened—it was out of his control. I couldn’t just abandon Bucky to Ross’ or the CIA’s custody. I just couldn’t. Everything and everyone I know is gone. He’s all that remains.”

Tony didn’t know why but that stung. That _hurt_. He ought to have realized a long time ago, really, that in this universe Steve didn’t think he was enough and that Steve picked Barnes over him…

Now, _that_ particular sentiment he couldn’t imagine the origin of.

Blinking away the daze that his wayward thoughts caused, Tony clenched his jaw. He didn’t want to clue Steve in on how much that pricked because he, himself, didn’t have a single goddamned clue why it did.

“And I have lot of things going for me, do I? Pepper and I are on hiatus; Bruce is still missing. The Avengers were all I had, Rogers. And because of you, because of your little _stunt_ …” Tony trailed off, frustrated. It was too late now, and really, he couldn’t keep blaming Rogers for it. No matter how much Tony would’ve wanted to keep them together as a team and not tear them apart, nothing was bound to last—not even superheroes. Breathing forcefully through the nose and licking his lower lip, Tony continued as evenly as he could, “I asked you not to tear us apart. But you didn’t listen. I don’t know why but despite that I still followed you to Siberia to help you, and for what?” Tony accused, falling morose at the memories of hearing Steve admit that he knew that HYDRA had Tony’s parents killed, of being on the receiving end of two super soldiers banding together against him, of watching the Captain walk away from him without a backward glance. He didn’t want to talk about this with Rogers. Tony’d done his damnedest to move on from this, and he didn’t want to have to pick at the scabs of a wound that had barely healed; it would be ugly. Better to leave it alone.

“The Avengers are still under the mantle of the Sokovia Accords, which you never signed up for. I’ve done my part pushing for its amendment to have it more palatable. Which, I want to be absolutely clear, had _nothing_ to do with you or your previous misgivings over it. You, along with everybody else in your faction, were already exonerated what with Ross’ questionable motivation for throwing the lot of you in prison without so much as an inquiry.  So that means there’s really nothing holding you here or anywhere. I’m awake now, and we don’t need you. I…don’t need you. You can take your lackeys, form your own super-secret boyband if you will, or go back to where you’ve stashed the BFF and everything’s copacetic,” Tony said, collecting himself and issuing as dazzling a fake smile as he could muster.

For the record, he was blaming Strange for this! Tony really hated magic. Fucking magic that just defied all reason and logic.

He would be sure to lather on the silent judgment pretty thickly, too, that Strange would have to be blind, deaf and dumb to not see. After all, if he hadn’t been out of it for three months, none of this would’ve happened and Rogers wouldn’t be sitting here, feeling sorry for him, feeling like he needed to pick up the slack because Tony couldn’t cut it as a leader. He had to find out which dimension he had been sent for the past three months and what made him wake up. Because he needed something to latch on to other than this empty chasm torn between what once was a unit that had such potential for being a solid group of friends or even an actual family.

“I was hoping that these past few months was enough to make you forgive me, to make you understand,” Steve said, pulling his chair closer to Tony’s hospital bed. “If you’d let me… Please… I want The Avengers to be a family again, Tony. Sam misses Rhodey. Wanda misses Vision. And of course Clint misses Nat, though I don’t think those two had ever fallen out of touch with each other even after Nat dropped out of the face of the earth right after the conflict—and…” Steve trailed off again, unsure about what he was thinking of saying next.

Tony kept mum, willing himself to stay angry at Rogers but for some vexing reason, his anger was no longer as intense as when he had first set eyes on Rogers after waking, and it was continuously shifting with every word out of the Captain’s mouth. Maybe it was hard to stay angry when you knew that the rift was just as much your fault as the other guy’s?

“And I miss you… That may be hard to believe but I do. I miss you, Tony. For weeks I kept staring at that phone, hoping to get a call from you—from _anyone_ , really. But mostly from you… I wanted to call, too, but I wasn’t sure if you would want to talk to me.

“Bucky is all I have left from my old life. But that’s not the only life I have now, is it? And he’s not the only friend I have. I have you guys, too. Siberia might not have ended at all well, but I can’t begin to tell you how much I appreciate that you went after us to give us back-up,” Steve began, wringing his meaty hands together.

“This past month—while waiting for you to wake up—I realized that friendship is more important than any differing ideologies. We might not have agreed about the Accords—we still probably don’t—but that doesn’t mean we cannot still be friends… if you’d let me make it up to the team…to _you_ …”

Tony chewed the inside of his mouth until it bordered on painful. What could he say to that, really? It wasn’t like he could send Cap back out into the streets when, in truth, the Avengers were as much Cap’s as they were his. And not that he didn’t have faith in his leadership skills, but he was an engineer-scientist first and foremost before he was a bad-ass superhero; and he missed losing himself for days on end inventing in his workshop. He had already lost Pepper to this superhero gig; he didn’t want to lose any more friends or his passion for tinkering to this as well.

And if truth be told, Tony was tired. Tony was fucking _tired_ of dealing with the politics that now came with saving lives.

He knew that if he had wanted, he could have turned his back on all this long ago, right after Steve caused a fracture amongst their ranks, but he was telling the Captain the truth in the Joint Task Force Boardroom—he didn’t want to stop; he _couldn’t_. This was his life now. He couldn’t make anything else work, but this—Iron Man… Not Pepper, not SI, not The Avengers. Tony probably wouldn’t know what to do with half of his time if he was to give up being Iron Man. So he sucked up to people who needed sucking up to, who needed to be appeased, if it meant he could keep doing this, regardless of who it was fighting beside him.

But that didn’t change the fact that he was tired of having to show strength where he was just like a lost child inside. He used to have Steve to shoulder most of the burden of the Avengers Initiative: Steve was The Boss, the Tactical Commander/Trainer/Boot Camp Overseer, and Tony was just the Sponsor/Armorer/All-around Tech Guy/Consultant. But after Steve eloped with his BFF, keeping The Avengers together, or what was left of them, became a thousand times more grueling and soul-sucking. He didn’t want to come to terms with it but Tony had just about ran out of things to keep The Avengers together that he had wanted on countless times to just dissolve the team and return to his lone gunslinger act. At least, that would’ve gotten the government off their collective backs: Rhodey could concentrate about getting well; Tony didn’t need to look for Natasha and try to cajole her out of hiding; and Vision could go backpacking to see the world and develop his humanity.

Instead, Tony’d had to talk to Strange and Peter Parker to entice them to join the team even informally; and he’d had to coax and negotiate with the UN Panel and the US government to propose and subsequently implement the necessary amendments to the Sokovia Accords.

It would’ve been so much easier to just fucking quit.    

“I don’t know Rogers,” Tony admitted, feeling tired and evasive all of a sudden. He would pay good money to have to postpone the continuation of this conversation to some other time. Or never have to talk about it—that was more preferable, really. “Right now, I don’t even feel like I can keep looking at you in the eye. Who knows if we’ll ever really trust each other again,” said Tony, chewing his lip in discomfort. “Or if we even ever did.”

Steve’s face degenerated into something akin to devastation, but he was quick to catch himself and school his face back to a less pained expression. “May I stay at least? I promise I’ll stay out of your way, but I’ve been wanting to go home, and this…this _is_ it. Always been. I’ve never felt more at home anywhere else than here at the compound. The rest of the team can decide for themselves if they want to stay, but Tony, please I—“

“—what about Barnes?” Tony interrupted, feeling all levels of uneasiness with Rogers at the cusp of begging—or at least, what would pass off as begging in Captain America’s book.

“He—uh—he willingly went under again until such time as we know more about how to undo HYDRA’s programming. He didn’t want a repeat of what happened in the Task Force HQ in Berlin,” Steve explained before adding, “he’s in Wakanda, in a secluded medical facility there.”

“And you’re all right with that? With you staying here while your better half is frozen in a pod on the other side of the pond? I mean, you _did_ turn your back on practically everything else for this guy. I would think you’d want to remain joined at the hip or something,” Tony probed again, suspicious that there was some aspect of the whole set-up that he wasn’t seeing clearly enough.

“Maybe, down the road—when we have already discovered enough about how to reverse HYDRA’s programming…” The Captain left off the rest, preferring to be all mysterious about it. “But, you know, for now—he doesn’t need me and he’s safer where he is.”

But Tony couldn’t help but notice the faraway and wistful character to Steve’s tone, but he dismissed it and assuming a wooden face, said, “I can’t kick you out if you want to stay. I…really don’t care.” He knew he sounded like a jackass, but he felt rotten. He knew, right off the bat, that nothing good could come out of letting Rogers stay. Because the guy was sure to use everything in his Nice Guy arsenal to try to make it up to the team and to Tony as he said he would.

He didn’t like how easy it was for him to fall into the trap of letting these people back in again after they had all broken him and left him feeling abandoned and lost.

Well, at the very least, Tony would get Rhodey off his back for being a reclusive shit and Vision off his own ass for falling into the self-same depression that Tony was also suffering from. Peter would now have more people to train with and Strange—well, hopefully, Strange would stop being so weird in the company of more people.

“That’s good enough for me, Tony,” Rogers replied with a tentative tight-lipped smile that still refused to disguise the underlying sadness in his eyes.

It was not going to be easy to rebuild an empire, but damn, if they weren’t going to try to start somewhere.


	2. 02. STEVE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting the second chapter, too because I don't know when the next one will be coming and having this floating in the ether already will, hopefully, motivate me to write faster and not sit on the story...
> 
> You, guys, know what buttons to click... ENJOY y'all!!!  
> \---

****Steve knew it wasn’t going to be easy to set things to rights with Tony.

He also didn’t quite expect it to be _this_ difficult.

How was one supposed to make it up to someone they never see? Because that was Steve’s dilemma: he and Tony never see each other. The Avengers compound was fairly spacious, and hundreds of people were always around at any given time to assist in intelligence-gathering, monitoring, response, rescue, mop-up, training, facilities development and maintenance, general administration, and external relations. He wasn’t expecting to see Tony everyday especially given the man’s demanding schedule and heavy workload, but Steve also didn’t imagine that it would literally take weeks— _seven_ , to be precise—before Steve actually caught a glimpse of Tony. A _glimpse_ —a mere glimpse—as Tony was hurrying to get into a car to drive himself to midtown New York for some SI thing.

Steve began to regret his assurance to Tony that he would stay out of the latter’s way in exchange for letting him stay in the compound. It seemed as if Tony was holding him to that statement and was, thus, giving him a pretty wide berth.

During the first couple of weeks, Steve always asked everyone he could manage to corner if they’d seen Tony around. As time passed, he had learned to stop asking lest he got frustrated that everyone else seemed to see Tony so much more often than he did—even Scott and the new guys, Stephen and Peter. It was particularly depressing to talk to Peter because the kid was almost always with Tony in the latter’s workshop sciencing up a storm. Either that or those two, who were thick as thieves, were planning a hostile takeover of the world using several hundred meters of high-tensile webbing and an army of transforming cranes.

Due to Tony’s wary distance, Steve started to miss Bucky again. He took to calling the secure medical facility in Wakanda as often as every other day to check on Bucky although he knew this to be a lost cause because Bucky was once again in a place and in a state where Steve was as good as powerless to help him. But he never stopped calling anyway.

He must admit to himself that part of the reason that he wanted to fix his relationship with the engineer-billionaire was the acknowledgment in his heart of hearts that there was likely no other person more persistent, more capable and more ingenious in the entire world who would be able to help Steve help Bucky than Tony Stark. And if Tony could find it in his secretly benevolent heart to help Bucky despite the latter’s hand in his parents’ murder, Steve was certain that Bucky would recover.

It was funny and, at the same time, shaming how Steve could trust Tony this way, this much, several months too late, especially after the latter’s jab at the former’s distrust of him during the whole sordid Sokovia Accords affair that, for Steve, felt eerily like being walloped right in the nuts.

He could, nevertheless, recognize now where he might have gone wrong with Tony. Steve’s natural, knee-jerk distrust of people’s agenda, brought on by his experience with HYDRA and, thereafter, SHIELD translated to his wariness of the UN and the whole plethora of possibilities that the Sokovia Accords could be abused and used to put the Avengers on a short leash that he failed to see who was trying to toss him the towrope, hoping that he would take it, whose sole intention was to keep their family together and right past wrongs: it was Tony, and Steve had forgotten that _Tony_ , just like Bucky, was his friend, his brother-in-arms, his family in this new century he had found himself in.

Because he didn’t have enough faith in Tony, things were even worse now than when they had first teamed up, if that was even possible.

He found himself missing Tony, too. Very much. Missing Tony was exacerbated by the fact that he was in the one place he had ever considered home since he woke up in the 21st century, a place Tony had so generously provided for him—for _all_ of them—just so the lot of them didn’t have to be rudderless after SHIELD had foundered.

Steve missed their banter, their snarky interactions. He missed the three-dimensional, occasionally dorky, childish and handsy, humorously sarcastic, secretly selfless and down-to-earth mechanic, who liked to keep a running commentary of useless information on movie nights to exasperate and amuse the rest of the team, who was generous with himself and his resources in exchange for something as simple as getting him his morning coffee fix, who was equal-parts enjoyably and infuriatingly hyper-verbal, who was uniquely Tony.

With Christmas fast approaching, Steve found himself wishing for just a short encounter with Tony that was more substantial than just a glimpse. Just to reassure him that they were still, in fact, sharing the same living space.

“Don’t hold your breath,” Sam said when Steve told him about his very simple Christmas wish: to have Tony join them for Christmas dinner because he could barely remember the last time he’d seen their benefactor since they’d all resolved to stay in the compound. “I can’t believe I’m even saying this but I actually miss his chattiness. It’s just not the same around here with him keeping his distance and all.”

“At least _you’ve_ talked to him since we all decided to stay. The only time I’ve ever seen him was last week as he was getting on a car to _leave_ ,” complained Steve. He and Sam volunteered to pick out the pine tree from a vendor further upstate and put it up in the living room for all of them to decorate together in the late afternoon. Wanda, Nat, Stephen, Vision and Laura Barton—who was spending Christmas in the compound along with the Barton brood—volunteered to prepare the Christmas dinner while Clint, Rhodey and the older Barton kids, along with a veritable army of cleaning bots, offered to de-clutter the living quarters. Scott and Peter both had their own families to spend the holiday with so they left earlier that day with the promise to return to the compound the very next day to finish off any leftovers. Tony was not even in the compound, and not even Rhodey could say for sure if their resident mechanic was going to join them later.

“Wait a sec—you’re saying you haven’t even _seen_ Tony since you had that talk when he woke up from his coma?”

Steve nodded, inwardly grimacing.

“Now that’s just wrong,” Sam said, expressing exactly Steve’s unvoiced sentiments. “I thought you guys hammered things out when you had that talk. I mean—when you decided to stay, I thought things were all right between you two.”

“Not as all right as I would hope for things to be,” replied Steve.

“What are you going to do about it? Like—how’re you even going to talk to the guy if he goes out of his way to avoid you?"

“I don’t know,” was Steve’s despondent response. And he really didn’t. He didn’t know how to make it up to Tony if Tony didn’t even want to be in the same space, breathing the same air, with him. “I don’t have any reason to stay in Wakanda and, apparently, I’ve no reason to stay here either. I don’t know, Sam.”

“Maybe you just need to give him a bit more time, and he’ll come around on his own,” Sam conjectured.

“I actually miss arguing with him,” said Steve, wistfully. “Who knew, right?”

Steve was forced to push his melancholy after that when the living room slowly filled with the compound’s current residents to check if the tree was already up for decoration. Before eight o’clock, everyone was already in the living room, lounging about, eggnog in hand, and choosing what was going to be the first décor to put up on the tree.

At ten o’clock, the tree was good and piled with décor on its sprigs and wrapped gifts underneath. Steve kept hoping for Tony to saunter in, but he never showed.

At ten-fifteen, they all trooped to the den/kitchen for an informal dinner. They went around the kitchen counter where serving bowls and dishes were set side by side for them to help themselves with before choosing where in the living area to settle and tuck in. Their dinner consisted of cream chicken casserole, pasta marinara, butter rolls, kebabs, and fresh fruit salad and gingerbread cookies for dessert. They’d all stuffed themselves full to bursting and all the while, Tony didn’t arrive to join them.

When the clock struck midnight, they each got their gifts from beneath the tree to distribute to their friends. They busied themselves tearing into this year’s haul until only a small pile of gifts remained under the tree: those from them to Tony.

Steve pushed his sadness from the forefront of his mind and thanked his team—his family, really—for a good haul that year. He got different art materials from Scott, Clint and Laura, Stephen, Rhodey and Vision. Natasha gave him a top-of-the-line cologne; Peter gave him a set of different hacky-sacks designed after each of the Avengers as part of a shared inside joke between the two of them; Wanda gave him an Arts History book; and Sam gave him a Hardcover First Edition of _The Art of War_ by Sun Tzu.

It was already close to two o’clock on Christmas morning when everyone else left the living area to go to their respective bedrooms, but Steve, instead of turning in, went to the rooftop helipad, sat on the very edge with his feet dangling against the side of the building and a blanket of stars overhead. In his hands were two wrapped packages, one for Bucky and one for Tony, who from start to finish of their small gathering didn’t make an appearance at all, not even a call or a text to any of them to say that he couldn’t make it.

Steve resolved to send Bucky’s gift to Wakanda as soon as possible even if Bucky was in no position to open it. What was important was he got Bucky something for the first time in over seventy years. And it was as if they were young men again way back in the 30s when Steve had to wrack his brains trying to think of what to get Bucky given his very humble budget.

Setting aside the package for Bucky, Steve’s eyes fell on the package he had meant to give to Tony. Steve only wished that Tony had not spent his Christmas Eve alone; Steve hoped he had been with Pepper or in some kind of party with the other elites—just…not alone. Steve wished Tony could’ve spent Christmas Eve with them—with his _family_ —but maybe Tony was still not ready for that. God knew they had not exactly given Tony any justifiable reason to treat them again as such. But in any case, Steve wished Tony spent his Christmas Eve with people who cared for him.

After some time, when all that accompanied Steve were the stars and the wisps of his even breathing in the cold night air, he was jolted out of his reverie first by the roar of Iron Man’s repulsors and then by Iron Man, himself, landing on the rooftop helipad.

Tony’s face was set in stone once the armor visor lifted up and Steve saw Tony up close for the first time in eight weeks. “Hey Tony,” Steve greeted with a tight-lipped smile.

“Rogers,” acknowledged Tony, though it was obvious on his face that he could’ve gone his whole life without having this encounter.

“Merry Christmas,” Steve continued, tightening his fingers on the package that was his gift to Tony.

“Same to you.” Tony turned back to the armor to give a command before making a beeline towards the steel staircase that would take him off the rooftop as if having Steve there was nothing more complicated than dusting the lint off his jeans.

“Please don’t be like this, Tony. Please.” The words were out of Steve’s lips before he could stop himself. So he steeled more of his courage and plowed on. “If we can’t be friends again, like we used to, can we at least not be worse than strangers?”

Silence. But at least, Tony had not walked away like Steve had not even spoken at all.

“How can we fix what went wrong between us if you can’t even bear to be in the same room with me?” Steve paused, unsure as to how to proceed. “How can I make it up to you if you won’t even give me a chance?”

“I let you stay here because this is as much your home as it is mine, and those people in there are as much your family as they are mine,” answered Tony, his voice still uncomfortably clipped, and Steve knew it had nothing to do with the cold temperature. “But if you think that means that things would fall back into the way they were before, you’re sorely mistaken.

“Trust me, Cap—this—“ and Tony motioned to the two of them as they were at that exact moment. “—is better for both of us. The thing with _strangers_ is you don’t expect anything from them, and since you don’t have any expectations, they can’t disappoint you; they can’t _hurt_ you.” And with that, Tony sauntered down the steel steps with nary a backward glance.

Steve forcefully swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. He was still clutching his supposed Christmas present to Tony, unsure now if he would ever have the chance or even the nerve to give it to its recipient. He wasn’t expecting the exchange and Tony’s parting words to hurt so much because he thought that he ought to have had enough practice at being on the receiving end of Tony Stark’s scathing sarcasm by now, especially considering the circumstances of late.

But, by God, it did.

-0-0-0-

Despite Tony’s flippant brush off of Steve’s efforts to try to set things right between the two of them, Steve remained undeterred. He didn’t pack his bags to come crawling back to Wakanda where Bucky was. He stubbornly kept to the Avengers compound, giving it his best shot to return to normal.

New Year’s came and went with no discernible change in Tony’s aloofness towards him. But Steve let it roll off his back. He had still given Tony his Christmas gift through Peter who had been kind enough to smuggle everyone else’s gifts to Tony’s workshop because of Natasha’s needling. She didn’t think Tony was going to collect his gifts from under the tree himself until the tree itself had to be knocked down, so she cajoled Peter to do the honors of presenting Tony with his haul of gifts from all of them.

Steve was just glad that his gift to Tony was not returned to him unopened. Or worse, unopened with a scathing note to remind him not to bother next time. So he thanked the heavens for small mercies.

After the excitement of the holidays was done, Steve, and the rest of the Avengers sort of fell into a routine. Steve was logging in more training hours with the team, although he was yet to run a mission since he was yet to fully digest the amendments to the Sokovia Accords, and he was still undecided whether or not to sign. He filled his days with training, keeping fit, drawing, manning the Command Center whenever it was his shift, calling to check on Bucky every other day, making up for lost time with the rest of the team by partaking in meals and attending the weekly recreation night that Sam and Rhodey were trying to turn into a team tradition.

Tony had never attended any of the weekly recreation nights, though.

Unlike Steve, the others had the benefit of the distraction provided by running missions because it had been easy for Natasha, Sam, Wanda, Peter, Stephen and even Scott to agree with the new and improved Sokovia Accords. Clint, who only popped in the compound every once in a while, opted not to sign because he claimed to still be, for all intents and purposes, retired. He was always available to help Steve facilitate individual and group training for everyone else’s benefit though, and for that, Steve was thankful.  

Tony, similarly, had never attended any of the individual or group trainings sessions.

For someone who was mostly still an Avenger, Tony was alarmingly detached from the rest of the team, and Steve was afraid that he was primarily to blame for it.

“The dynamics of the whole team is affected since he steers clear of participating in any group activity because of me—and it’s really just _me_ he doesn’t want to have anything to do with,” Steve voiced his concerns to Natasha when he caught her taking tea in the communal kitchen.

“You’re not the only one who’d hurt him during the conflict because of the Accords. With the exception of Rhodey, Vision and Peter, all of us had. So why should he single you out?” Natasha asked in that manner that was uniquely hers. They've already talked about this in passing when Steve first came back to the facility when Tony was in a coma.

“Because it was never just about the Accords,” replied Steve. He would never forget the look on Tony’s face in front of that outdated monitor in the Siberian HYDRA facility—the wrecked, devastated, absolutely pained look in those big, brown eyes made glass-like by unshed tears, only to be replaced by the hard look of accusation and blind rage.

And much later, by fear. Steve could still see behind his closed eyelids the fear in Tony’s eyes as he pulled his arms back for a powerful blow, ramming the shield against Iron Man’s chest reactor.

Tony must have thought that Steve was going to kill him—could be capable of killing him in defense of Bucky. But Steve knew in the very core of his soul that he wouldn’t— _couldn’t_ have killed Tony regardless of his loyalty to Bucky. Steve just needed to stop the genius from doing something out of blind rage that he was sure would be another thing to weigh heavily on Tony’s conscience. If Tony had ended up killing Bucky—an innocent—Tony would beat himself up for it, much like he was still beating himself up for Johannesburg and Sokovia.

Steve loved Bucky more than anything, but he cared deeply for Tony, too. So watching Bucky choose to go under again was no more difficult than leaving Tony hurt and alone in Siberia. But he still did it anyway. He left Tony hurt and alone in Siberia.

It was never just about the Sokovia Accords.

“But you’ve already asked for forgiveness. And Tony…Tony is a lot of things but he’s not a vindictive, grudge-bearing shmuck. He knows where he went wrong during the falling out, and you seem like you do, too. You were once friends, and I believe you can be again. You just have to…keep at this until he comes around,” Natasha counselled. “You’re a stubborn guy, who doesn’t really know when to quit. If there ever was a time to employ that Steve Rogers-trademarked stubbornness, that time is now.”

“Have you seen him lately or talked to him—Tony?”

“Yeah,” Natasha admitted, breathy and wistful, like there were some things about the last time that she’d talked to Tony that troubled her. Steve patiently waited for her to elaborate.

“He’s busy with a lot of things—then again, when had he not been? He really does seem more…introspective now than he used to. Since the coma,” Natasha opined. Steve watched her body language and felt like there was more she wanted to say, but she appeared hesitant—as if she was weighing whether it was something that was her place to tell Steve about.

“I don’t think it’s any cause to worry. Not yet. But Rhodey thinks differently,” Nat segued. Steve suddenly felt a sense of foreboding sprouting in his gut.

“Why? What’s really happening with Tony, Nat?”

“According to Rhodey, Tony’s memory is becoming spottier of late,” relayed Nat with a shrug.

“ _Spotty memory_? What do you mean? Is he having memory lapses?” Steve asked, concerned. Tony was one of the smartest, sharpest people that Steve knew. If Tony was having memory lapses of late, it was a _definite_ cause for concern.

“Not exactly memory lapses. Rhodey doesn’t think he _forgets_ things—more like, he remembers things differently,” said Nat, taking pains to try to explain to Steve who was hanging on to her every word with obvious concern etched on his face. “Like the last time I talked to him. I think that was three days ago. He was looking for a database console that he said was installed behind the cabinet of power tools in the shop, but it was just an ordinary wall there. Tony insisted that there was another console there, but even FRIDAY attested to the fact that there was nothing there as shown by repeated IR scans of the entire place. Tony was disoriented for a while before he recovered and joked that he was just testing FRIDAY’s latest upgrades for memory glitches.”

“And—what—it’s been happening since he woke up from the coma?”

Natasha nodded, taking a quick sip of her tea to hide her own worried tic that Steve knew to look for in the way her lips were set together.

“Doesn’t Stephen know more about what could’ve happened to Tony? It was, after all, his magic that sent Tony’s consciousness to God-knows-where,” Steve suggested, inching even closer to Nat.

“Rhodey has some theories, but we don’t have anything definite. We _are_ fairly certain, though, that this is rooted to the coma. Maybe his mind is still trying to adjust from being sent somewhere and then being wrenched back to his body. Maybe he’s remembering different sets of memories all at once—we’re not sure as we haven’t really discussed this with Stephen; we just mostly have conjectures,” Nat explained.

“And _you’re_ not worried that it might be something really serious?”

“I am wholly uncomfortable with putting premium on nothing but speculation by worrying about it,” Natasha answered with another shrug. “But this may be as good a reason as any to keep trying to mend things with Tony, Steve. We don’t know what’s happening, but whatever it is, we will need you here. _He_ will need you here.”

Steve was still discomfited by his conversation with Natasha about Tony much later. He took to drawing as was his habit whenever something was troubling him in effort to quiet his noisy thoughts. But drawing was not doing the trick now. He was still worried about Tony and what really was the deal with him. He felt like this worry was being made worse by the fact that he had to content himself with hearing about this from other people because Tony refused to have anything to do with him. He would have wanted to sate his own curiosity by observing Tony himself, but the last time that they shared a space together didn’t exactly go well.

He was always drawing Bucky lately. And this time was no different as he found himself rubbing the pad of his ring finger to contour the jaw of his drawing. He had sketchbooks after sketchbooks of drawings of Bucky—before the war and as he was now. This was the only way he could think of to deal with missing his friend, being so far away from him and feeling helpless.

He missed Bucky like he was missing a limb.

He missed Tony, too, but drawing Tony was more painful than therapeutic, really. So Steve limited himself to drawing Bucky.

It occurred to him, then, how he was such a lousy friend. Bucky opted to go under again because there was nothing Steve could do to help him. Tony was refusing to talk to him because Steve turned his back on him, kept secrets from him, physically mauled him, and then abandoned him. He was living proof that no matter how well-intentioned someone was, he could screw up in the most colossal way and it would be the people closest to him who would have to bear the full brunt of the shitstorm at the tail end of those best intentions.

Drawing suddenly stopped being therapeutic, so he tucked his pencil between the pages of his sketchbook and pushed the sketchbook away from him on the tabletop. Digging into his jeans’ back pocket, he grabbed his smartphone and connected to _Skype_. Talking one-sidedly to Bucky just wouldn’t do for him today.

“Hey Dawi,” Steve greeted when he saw the orderly who had accepted his _Skype_ video call. “How’re things?”

“Your friend still sleeps. His vital signs are all stable. The King looks in on him once a week,” Dawi, the orderly, reported in his heavily-accented English with a kind smile. “Would you like to see him today?”

“Yes, please. Many thanks, Dawi,” thanked Steve. The pin camera was dislodged from its usual perch, was unfocused for a bit as it was moved, but later on, came into focus again. And Steve’s phone screen was filled with Bucky’s serenely slumbering face through the glass and frost of the cryopod.

“Heya Buck,” Steve greeted like he was still expecting for his friend to return the greeting. “It’s good to see you today. I was just drawing you as you had been before you shipped out. Your hair’s getting long. You might need to cut it once you’re awake. Long hair never suited you. I always liked your hair before—short and neatly combed back.”

Steve knew he was talking nonsense; it wasn’t as if Bucky could answer back. But he kept on talking anyway. About a lot of other inconsequential things.

“I miss you,” Steve found himself murmuring after a while. “I wish it didn’t have to be like this.” He traced Bucky’s face—his forehead, his jaw, his lower lip before retracting his fingertips from the screen of his smartphone.

He returned to chatting about mundane, inconsequential things again to try to mask the unexpected feeling of melancholy.

No one knew but it was in 1935 when Steve Rogers first came to terms with the fact that he might be in love with his best friend.

He was afraid of what it entailed, though, so he pushed the thought to the very recesses of his mind, and focused on getting himself enlisted in the army despite his small stature and poor health.

And the rest, as they say, was history.

He had hoped so badly that it wouldn’t show. Steve was only too happy to undertake the Valkyrie mission after he had thought Bucky had fallen to his death in that ravine because he wanted a distraction from having to come to terms with the fact of a beloved’s death. Loving Bucky hardly meant Steve didn’t feel anything for Peggy Carter, though, no. Peggy wasn’t just someone who happened to be there to fill the void left by Bucky; Steve genuinely cared for Peggy—had hoped he could’ve had a life and a family with her.

But Bucky was his first love. And everyone else was right in that you never, ever forget your first.

He had felt both devastated and hopeful when he found out that Bucky was alive. He didn’t give a rat’s ass about the fact that Bucky couldn’t remember him from Adam; what was important was Bucky was alive—the one person Steve had never really stopped loving was alive. And Steve fought tooth and nail to try to get Bucky back from the dark prison that was his mind courtesy of HYDRA’s Winter Soldier programming.

Steve knew it was going to be difficult to explain to the team—even with the liberalized 21st century he had found himself living in, it was going to be a discussion that he, himself, didn’t know if he was already prepared to go through with people he barely knew. So he didn’t; he kept it all a secret. He had kept it a secret for 81 years, he thought he could keep it for several years more. He had kept it a secret even from Bucky himself—the very object of his regard; he was sure he could keep it from the rest of The Avengers.

Then, the conflict over the Sokovia Accords happened.

Steve knew he would never forgive himself if something were to happen to Bucky. They were quick to judge, quick to point fingers, Steve thought, because no one knew Bucky like he did—like he _still_ did. So he took it upon himself to save Bucky—his Bucky. His first love and his best friend.

So he risked estranging another friend to be in a position to aid the other. And now, Steve’s lost them both.

“I will see you soon, Buck. And I’ll find a way to help you. And when you’re awake again, we’ll explore the 21st century together—you and me…just like old times,” Steve promised, trying to blink away the prickling behind his eyes.

But before he could return to Bucky he was going to fix things with Tony come hell or high water. He was going to be the friend that Tony had needed him to be all those months ago.


	3. 03. TONY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony fixes Rhodey and decides to look into the BARF with a view to helping Barnes. The decision has nothing to do with his disturbing post-coma flashbacks and Steve. Nothing at all... or so he likes to believe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter, ladies and gents!!! I am so happy to get some quality writing done this week. I WAS IN THE ZONE!!!! I also hit the minimum 25k words on my Cap-IM BB 2016 potential entry and it helped spur me along to write quicker for this story as well. Unfortunately, after 25k words, I've barely scratched the surface on my BB 2016 entry, so I am looking at 2 100k+-word stories again (this one and my BB 2016 entry)--sigh... I'm not doing it deliberately, mind. I know that brevity is the soul of wit (I ain't gonna argue with Shakespeare), but I can't seem to limit where my imagination goes when I begin to conceive a story... Someone teach me how to write a plot that goes like: they meet-they fight-they realize they're better friends-they banter-they become close-they screw-they're paired for life!!!
> 
> Still unbeta'ed, this. If you see errors, please let me know. And you know which buttons to hit to make me happy and possibly motivate me to write quicker *wink wink* especially since it's FRIDAY WRITE NIGHT today (no work for the next two days--woohoo!)!!!
> 
> Enjoy!  
> \---

 

Tony didn’t know how he could have missed it. But it was undeniably obvious now that he was extra attentive to the details that he would otherwise miss. It was because, usually, he wasn’t as perceptive with people as he was with his machines and his codes and his technology, but Tony’d have to be blind, deaf and dumb to miss the tell-tale signs:

The Sergeant was always Rogers’ favorite drawing subject, putting pencil against paper so fondly, fixing the shading and the contours on that classically handsome face of the erstwhile war hero-turned-hired gun for a criminal organization; Rogers was _always_ —like every other day or so—calling Wakanda to ask after his friend who was in no position to give a damn whether he was calling like he promised he would because he was blissfully iced and out of it; and with the way the Captain’s fingertips traced the image of the sleeping Barnes on his smartphone with bright blue eyes that shone with yearning and naked adoration, Tony as good as confirmed it—

Of _fucking_ course!

Captain America was fucking in love with his Bucky!

Cap practically went to hell and back for this guy, never really stopped mourning him and then looking for him when Rogers had found out he was alive, abandoned his team—his friends to become a criminal only to bring this guy in safe and sound, ganged up on Tony trying to defend the guy despite the latter’s crystal-clear involvement in the older Starks’ deaths _caught on video_ —no less, and chose the guy over Tony and Cap’s fucking _shield_ to seek asylum in Wakanda where Steve apparently still didn’t stop looking out for the guy until the latter himself chose to go back in cryostasis for everyone’s protection from his HYDRA-warped mind.

It was difficult now for Tony to un-see once it became apparent that Steve Rogers did all of those things, endured what he had endured for Barnes, and was now looking longingly at the image of the slumbering former assassin on the screen of his smartphone for one reason and one reason only: love. Of the _romantic_ kind.

Tony didn’t even know what the ever-loving fuck he was doing, keeping tabs on Rogers’ activities using the numerous cameras scattered all over the compound like a goddamned stalker! Like what was the point of avoiding the man like he had the most aggressive strain of the Bubonic plague if Tony was just going to resort to watching him surreptitiously anyway as he had been doing for some time now? Tony should have known, and no doubt Pepper would have confirmed it—that he actually had a pretty strong predisposition for some form of _masochism_. Because, really, there was no other explanation for why he was positively torturing himself by letting Rogers _live_ in the compound and devoting a third of his workshop’s wall to a screen that showcased the man’s daily comings-and-goings like the most patriotic version of _The Truman Show_ but that Tony was a masochist.

The engineer didn’t know what it was about the Captain that still niggled at the back of his mind. He could’ve told Rogers to fuck off back to Wakanda and leave Tony in peace because he didn’t want to have anything to do with his lying and stubborn ass, but Tony didn’t. Somehow, there was still a part of Tony that wanted to believe that Rogers didn’t mean anything malicious by all the unfortunate things that had happened during the conflict over the Sokovia Accords, that they were just played like a violin by Helmut Zemo because, superhero or no, they were all _only human_ : they make mistakes; they fall victim now and again to hubris; they think they can shield everyone else from all the bad stuff by taking one for the team; they are subject to guilt, the need to make things right and impose upon others that self-same obligation, the fear of doing the wrong things, the distrust of others who don’t share the same set of principles; and they act first and talk later when everything is already hopelessly screwed-up.

Truth be told, Tony was no longer angry at the Captain. He was mostly _wary_ , but there were a lot of other sentiments there, bubbling beneath the surface, the origin of which he couldn’t really put a finger on. There was that heaviness in Tony’s stomach and a lump in his throat every time he saw Rogers—in person or in the security feeds—with those big, blue eyes that, since moving back in, were mostly tinged with sadness, entreaty or remorse.

This mix of confusing emotions was the reason that Tony decided to keep his distance, not only from Rogers but from everyone else. He figured that they couldn’t hurt him, if he didn’t let them in. He’d let them in once before, and it didn’t turn out so hot for him, so he thought he would have to be an utter moron if he let them in again.

He remained professional though, upgrading everyone’s gear as often as necessary, maintaining the facility’s equipment, innovating everyone’s personal arsenal and weaponry whenever he could, staying on as the facility’s main benefactor, but that was the absolute limit to his involvement. Gone were the days that he would sit with them for meals, sporadically show up for training exercises, mission debriefs and sparring and play the occasional prank on unsuspecting teammates least likely to murder him in retaliation, participate in unofficial team-building activities, joke around on the comms, and hangout in the kitchen for any old random chat with whoever might be awake on the occasion of his erratic coffee and nourishment breaks.

He refused to acknowledge it but there was _another reason_ that he wanted to steer clear of the rest of the team and of Steve, in particular. Since he had awoken from his three-month-long unconsciousness, he’d been experiencing peculiar flashbacks, slips of the tongue, sudden recollection of events that, as days went by, he was less and less sure if they had happened at all or _when_ exactly in his life they had even occurred.

Some of those unbidden flashbacks that would come to Tony awake or while asleep, featured a familiar blonde-haired, blue eyed, built-like-a-GQ-model, boy-next-door, patriotic, World War II veteran. Or someone who uncannily looked like him.

Tony couldn’t explain where these recollections were coming from. Only that they were extremely distressing.

He tried to abate the increasing frequency of these experiential anomalies by practically drowning himself in work both for the Avengers and Stark Industries. Several times, the Pentagon tried asking him to do some tech work for the US government but Tony very disrespectfully declined short of telling the military brass to shove the request up theirs.

At first, his productiveness was a welcome development what with the three-month-long dry spell while he slept. But with no catastrophes to save the world from of late and with too much time on his hands because of his aloofness from the rest of the people living in the compound, Tony was _too_ productive and now he was fast running out of things to do. He could only rewire DUM-E, recalibrate Rhodey’s leg support and upgrade things that go boom so many times before things became too repetitive.

He needed new distractions, so some two weeks ago he decided to reopen the prospect of improving two projects: Extremis and the Binarily Augmented Retro Framing Technology.

Tony _was_ already dabbling in tweaking Extremis even before his little coma because he couldn’t stand the thought of not doing anything more for Rhodey. His friend needed to be rehabilitated to his former glory and Tony was like a man possessed, exploring all sorts of possibilities until his attention fell on improving the late Maya Hansen’s biotechnology. While Extremis didn’t exactly leave him with warm, fuzzy feelings after what had happened with Aldrich Killian, the Mandarin and nearly losing Pepper, he became convinced that Extremis was the answer to make sure that War Machine would fly again like nothing had happened.

If Tony could crack what had happened to Pepper, he sure as hell could crack this. They just needed Rhodey’s spine healed and restored and Tony could, thereafter, inhibit Extremis to remain dormant unless activated anew by an activation serum of sorts. The only thing left now was to convince Rhodey that that was safe—that there was no chance of him turning into a fire-breathing, psychotic, drug dependent, limb-regenerating superhuman.

He was scheduled to try to broach the topic to Rhodey now as Tony awaited a visit from his friend in the safety and relative seclusion of his workshop. He refused to see anyone now without an appointment with FRIDAY. He was expecting a lot of murderous looks, attempts to invade his space and make him come out of his shell what with Natasha in residence again and Clint frequently sojourning in the compound also, but there had been no such efforts for which Tony was only too glad.

While waiting for Rhodey, Tony zoomed in on the live surveillance feed of Cap looking at the former HYDRA asset on his phone with such pain marring his otherwise classically handsome face. And Tony thought of the other project he was looking to improve—the BARF, the application of which, loath as he was to admit it, was perfect and ideal for one brainwashed Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.

Clenching his jaw, Tony angrily swatted the holographic screen off. He just didn’t see any reason for trying to do shit for Steve Rogers and James Barnes after the feud in Siberia where he’d been hopelessly ganged up on by the two super soldiers. He could’ve easily killed either of them, too. He could’ve repulsored Barnes’ face off after he was brought down when he lost the cybernetic arm, and he could’ve similarly blasted Rogers’ face off as the latter was bringing down the shield with the end result of smashing Tony’s chest reactor. Months and months later, Tony was still stumped as to why he didn’t do it when there was a real and imminent threat to his life at the hands of the two superhumans.

There was simply no use regretting his earlier restraint. If he couldn’t kill Rogers then, then he sure as hell wouldn’t be able to do so now. And he would like to keep believing that his non-interest in Cap’s murder had something to do with some form of _indifference_ and not with how Steve’s sad eyes always seemed to leave his throat so constricted to the point that he couldn’t fucking breathe.

For the nth time, Tony tried to chalk it up to anxiety at being under the same roof as Rogers again, this inexplicable shitstorm of emotions he’d been feeling lately. He thought he had every right to feel as if he was on the deep end because he had been betrayed and abandoned and used, so there was bound to be pain and shit, right?

Right?

Right.

The pneumatic mechanism to the doors of his workshop hissed loudly, signaling the arrival of the person he was expecting. And Tony turned towards the access doors to welcome Rhodey with an enthused greeting, “honey bear!” And he enveloped the airman in a warm embrace. “You’ll be glad you came, Rhodey, because there’s something of vital importance that I gotta discuss with you.”

“Damn right you do, because, for starters, what’s a fella supposed to do when he has to make a goddamned _appointment_ first just so he can see and hang out with his best friend—huh—Tones, you tell me?” Rhodey asked, looking pissed or just about there.

Tony’s opened his brown eyes wide, trying to convey the air of innocence, and raised his arms in surrender to appease his friend’s sour mood. “You know I’ve been busy, sour patch. I have a business to run and a gang of superheroes to feed; I gotta hustle out there if I want to stay on top of my game. The consumer market is getting inundated with two-bit inventions made by the likes of Justin Hammer, and I simply refuse to stand for it.

“Which brings me to why I wanted to see you today,” Tony segued despite Rhodey’s still thunderously dark expression. “I think I’ve found a cure for your spinal cord injury—no more trips to Columbia University, no more physical therapy, no more exoskeleton, no more pain and pain meds, guaranteed—full functionality to your lower appendages—“

“—what’s the catch?” Rhodey interrupted, suspicious.

Tony breathed in and out once through the nose to steel himself for any violent reaction from his friend. “It’s Extremis.”

“You have _got_ to be kidding me,” Rhodey said, mouth falling open in surprise. “Haven’t we had enough of that after what happened with the Mandarin, Killian and Pepper? Now, you want to dabble in it again? Haven’t you learned your lesson, Tones?” He continued, slightly dismayed.

“I _have_ learned my lesson, which is why I’m continuously improving it because only _I_ can. I fixed Pepper, didn’t I? And I swear I’m gonna fix you, too,” Tony declared with conviction. “I just need you to trust me, Rhodey.”

“You know I do, but this is my body we’re talking about— _altering my body_. I don’t fancy seeing myself glowing, breathing fire or re-growing limbs in a heartbeat,” Rhodey argued, collapsing into a seat to ease the pressure on his legs and the mechanical device propping him up. “I’d rather work my ass off in therapy to get the full use of my limbs back no matter how long that’ll take me than change myself into something offensive to nature.”

“I’m not going to turn you into some kind of _mutant_ , Rhodey—jeez!—you don’t see Pepper going all fire-breathing dragon on me no matter how much I piss her off,” Tony joked, pulling up the initial specs to the modified Extremis to show Rhodey the extent of what he intended to do. “I’m tweaking the serum to particularly target your current injury. You’re going to need three injections: the first is to ease your body into accepting the Extremis serum; the second is the modified Extremis itself; and the third is the serum to render Extremis dormant and stable so there will be no need for continuous injections. Your DNA would not be recoded; your bio-electricity and temperature will normalize and, like I said, your full functionality will be restored,” Tony explained, demonstrating the process through a presentation that FRIDAY had come up with. “Extremis is _not normal_ , I know—but neither is this,” said Tony gravely, gesturing towards Rhodey’s walking implement. “I’m not going to endure seeing you like this and not do something about it.”

Rhodey’s face that was previously set in stone considerably softened after hearing Tony’s spiel. But there was still doubt in his dark eyes. “Alright—say I’m going to agree to be down for this, what about logistics—how long is the procedure going to take and shall we do it here in the compound?” Rhodey asked, then swallowing some trepidation, continued to ask, “it’s going to hurt like a motherfucker, isn’t it?”

“I’ll try to do something about the pain, but as the modified serum currently stands, the pain is nothing that a badass like you can’t handle,” joked Tony with the slightest of quirks to the corners of his lips as he swiped at the holo-screens before him to further discuss logistics with his future subject. “Just think about what it’ll do to your masculinity if Pepper could handle her serum better than you can handle yours.”

“Ha fucking ha,” Rhodey sarcastically answered. “I can’t believe I’m letting you turn me into a guinea pig.”

“That’s ‘cause you love me. And let’s face it, Rhodey, you know as well as I that this is not _right_. There’s still so much you can do out there, and you _should_ be out there, running missions, saving people, being War Machine,” Tony said with fondness in his tone for his long-time friend and staunchest ally. Unlike _some people_ , Rhodey had never turned his back on Tony, had always been there for him. Tony was not going to rest until Rhodey was back to his former glory.

“So is this what you’ve been up to these past months since you woke up from your coma? _Mad Sciencing_?”

“Only you can make _mad sciencing_ sound as scandalous as _whoring_. Like I told you, I’ve been busy with projects,” Tony explained dismissively, his eyes glued to a holo-screen that was devoted to the logistics of the procedure that Rhodey was going to undergo.

“So busy that none of us have seen you more than twice in nearly three months? Where were you at Christmas and New Year’s, Tony? You were so busy you couldn’t even eat a proper Christmas dinner with the people you supposedly live with?”

Tony knew that Rhodey was going to bring up the issue of his absence during the holidays sooner or later—the holidays that Tony had spent alone in the Starks’ old mansion in midtown. Malibu was out because Pepper was there, and Tony was in no mood to spend yuletide with her after their not so-amicable separation. Stark Tower was also out because it was too inconveniently located in the thick of the holiday celebrations, and he was just too bitter to do much celebrating. So the mansion it was. It was huge, dark, cold and filled with painful memories, matching Tony’s mood to a T. He’d shut off all his phones, tablets and communications with FRIDAY for that delicious isolation. Sighing, he replied, “I was busy, Rhodey, OK? Can’t we just leave it at that?”

“No, Tones. I _refuse_ to leave it at that because we’d lost you for three months, dreading the worst—if you were ever going to wake up or not. And after you woke up, you withdrew into yourself like we weren’t even around! We hardly know what’s happening with you,” Rhodey strongly berated. “I know—and don’t try to hide it from me—that you’ve been having problems with recalling things since you woke up from the coma. I’ve noticed it in the handful of times that we had talked since you recovered. You would lose your train of thought in the middle of saying something; you would go glassy-eyed as if you’d gone into this far-off headspace; you would have these slips of the tongue… Don’t you think we deserve to know about that—what’s been happening with you?

“Look, man, Natasha’s noticed it, too, and she and I are worried. If something’s wrong—“

“—nothing’s wrong, alright! _Nothing’s wrong_. You don’t have to concern yourselves with this because it won’t affect my productivity when it comes to the upgrade of everyone’s gear and the upkeep of the facility—“

“ _Jesus_ —you think we’re only worried about you because we don’t want our tech’s functionality to suffer?!—what do you take us for, Tony?”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore, OK? We’ve more pressing things to discuss. Based on these projections, the entire procedure will take eight days including aftercare, post-procedure evaluation and mop-up. I’ll schedule it and engage the necessary medical support, calibrate and transport the necessary equipment because I’m thinking we don’t want the procedure done here in the compound; there’s too many people, and it’s always crazy around here. You need the peace and quiet and we don’t want the government sniffing in, trying to get wind of what we’re doing. This is another thing I don’t want them getting their grubby little hands on,” Tony rambled so that Rhodey wouldn’t get a word in edgewise. “FRIDAY, block off eight successive days next month for the procedure, make sure to engage the medical staff—a staff of twenty should do it. We’re using The Villa for this so make sure to alert the caretaker, have him stock up on everything, check that the weather’s going to be clear; coordinate with the Weather Bureau in Oahu, if need be. You know how it gets there when a hurricane’s coming in—“

 _“The Villa, Sir?”_ FRIDAY asked, uncertainty unmistakable in her voice.

“Yes, Fry, The Villa, you know…the one I bought on the occasion of my marriage to Ste—“ Tony stated matter-of-factly, but suddenly realizing the words that were coming out of his mouth, stopped, stunned at his own ramblings. What was he saying? What was he about to say? He shook his head vigorously, clearing his thoughts.

Rhodey ogled at him as if he’d sprouted horns. “You got _married_?! To whom?”

What? Tony was suddenly overcome with a dizzy spell, so powerful he wanted to hurl his guts out. He momentarily saw an image of a man, blonde and well-built. The man was telling him something, and then the man was laughing, a rumbling baritone of a laugh, good-natured and affectionate. It sent warmth from the soles of Tony’s feet to the base of his head. The man’s hands were wrapped around a steaming mug, and on his left ring finger shone a thick silver band. The scene was fuzzy though, flooded with light but seemingly viewed from a great depth underwater. It was gone as quickly as it had come, leaving Tony disoriented, woozy and breathing heavily, his knees threatening to collapse from right under him.

He came to with Rhodey’s arms clutched tightly around his midriff, his own hands grasping the edge of his worktable to keep him upright. Tony imagined this was what getting hit by lightning must feel like.

“Tony! Tony—are you alright? Talk to me, Tony,” Rhodey repeatedly said his name, lightly smacking him on the jaw. “How long has this been happening? Has this been happening since you snapped out of the coma?”

“It’s…on and off. Mostly just dizzy spells, slight headaches and—“ Tony was about to say ‘ _memories of things that didn’t really happen_ ’ but, for the second time in so many minutes, stopped himself. There was no use alarming Rhodey more than he already was. There was nothing wrong with him. He was just working himself to breaking point, trying to catch up on the time now lost to him. “I don’t sleep a lot and most days my caffeine-to-blood ratio is out of this world, so sue me.”

“You should get yourself checked out by a doctor,” Rhodey insisted with furrowed eyebrows.

“I did. I consulted with _three_ doctors specializing in trauma and coma recovery. They all gave me a clean bill of health,” Tony said, mostly back to his usual self. Apart from a slight throbbing in his temples, there was no more indication that he had nearly fainted. “I’m just trying to catch up on all the work I’ve missed; and I’m under a lot of self-imposed pressure, that’s all.”

After a period of tense silence with Rhodey surreptitiously looking at Tony every once in a while, the former airman finally spoke, “so did you really get married over the holidays or what? Is it Pepper—did you pop the question to Pepper?”

“No, Rhodey, I didn’t get married,” he disclaimed, raking a hand through his tousled brown-black hair. “It was just a _joke_. You should have seen your face.” He tried to cover his discomfort with amused tittering.

“Was it? Or was it your—“

“ _Come on_ , pal, you gotta let this go. I get dizzy spells now and again because sometimes I forget to eat and sleep. I’ve already slept for three months straight; I’m sick of it so no, you can’t tell me I need more sleep. I’ve already seen _three_ specialists and they already told me I’m fine,” Tony enunciated slowly, like he would if he were explaining the Theory of Evolution to a first-grader. “Now, I need to figure out some more loose ends to your procedure, so why don’t you let me work my magic and I’ll just have FRIDAY inform you when it’s time to ship you out to where we’re doing it?”

“I’m being dismissed, aren’t I?”

“Yes, you’re being dismissed,” Tony replied, cheekily, returning his attention to the still open holo-screen in front of his worktable. “I’ll see you soon, Rhodey.”

“You have a family two floors up, you know, waiting with bated breath for you. Always waiting. Don’t retreat into yourself and miss the opportunity to put your family back together. You’re an engineer; you fix things—hell, you’re fixing _me_ —so you of all people should know that there’s nothing broken that can’t be fixed, unless you let it stay broken,” Rhodey said before he crossed the threshold to leave Tony’s workshop.

Tony was left alone in the middle of his mechanical kingdom with the ghost of a headache, the faint memory of an affectionate laugh and a glint of a wedding band against his eyes.

-0-0-0-

Tony wanted to credit the decision to re-examine the BARF technology and configure it for the use of one former Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes to retire the Winter Soldier once and for all to his endless quest for an intellectual challenge. There were other possible motivations also: his desire for catharsis, his acknowledgment that Barnes was as much a victim as his parents were, his need to come to terms with his own guilt because it wasn’t that his parents had been stolen from him, it was that he never got around to tell them how much, in his own little way, he’d loved them.

Plus, he was bored out of his mind, and he needed a new project to consume him, to take possession of his mind, body and soul. So much so, that he wouldn’t think of the underlying reason why he was _really_ even considering helping Barnes:

Because of Steve Rogers.

 _Fucking_ Steve Rogers.

Who had taken hold of Tony’s dreams, both in sleep and in wakefulness, and fucking refused to let go. There was no denying it anymore as the instances of unbelievably sappy flashbacks and detailed nightly dreams became more and more frequent that it was, none other than, Steve fucking Rogers in each and every one of them.

And Tony’s decision to help Barnes was because it was the only way that Tony was ever going to make Steve smile the same way he always did in Tony’s dreams and flashbacks.

It was infuriating since the reality was, Tony was still avoiding Steve like the plague, and the only expression that Steve seemed to be able to pull around him was bone-deep remorse.

In point of fact, the only times that Tony had ever seen Steve smile since moving back in the compound were whenever he was checking in on Barnes who was still obliviously frozen in a pod in Wakanda. And it both pained him and pleased him, that smile. Knowing that it wasn’t and would never be directed at him, but that there _was_ something he could do to make the Captain smile like that.

Like he’d already realized, he was no longer angry at Steve, but this was not for lack of trying on his part. But how _could_ he stay angry? When the nights always left him with a memory of a touch, a kiss, a promise, a smile—so real he expected to turn in his bed to find Steve there, peacefully asleep beside him. And the flashbacks during the day just made him want to stare off into space endlessly, half-confused yet half-wishing they were truth. There was no way that Tony could keep fanning the flames of his rage when, in the handful of times that they encountered each other by accident around the compound, Steve’s big, blue eyes looked at Tony with sadness and earnestness.

He hated to have to face it, too, but Rhodey’s words to him in the workshop a couple weeks ago disturbed him to no end.

Here Tony was, heavily conflicted about whether to reach out to the people who used to be his family or keep his distance from them. On the one hand, he was sick and tired of being the genius chump that those he trusted the most seemed to find quite easy to betray: Obie had him kidnapped and nearly killed; Pepper said she loved him but ended up leaving him; Natasha played him like a bloody lyre over and over; Bruce was his friend, his ally, his science bro but vanished on him, too; and Steve… the hero of his youth, supposedly the best of them all—lied to him, beat him to within an inch of his life, and abandoned him.

On the other hand, he wanted to salvage the only family he had left because while he was sick and tired of being betrayed, he was even more fed up of being all alone, of maintaining a façade of strength when the truth was, he was struggling. Always struggling…

If Rhodey, who obviously got the rawest end of the whole deal, could let go of any anger towards the people and the circumstances surrounding his injury, what right did Tony have to bear grudges against them?

He resolved to find the middle ground in his personal conflict. As a first step towards that middle ground, Tony decided to return Cap’s shield and to re-examine the BARF technology with a view to using it on Barnes to deprogram the Winter Soldier.

Tony didn’t know when the right time was to return the shield or tell Cap about his plan to help rehabilitate Barnes, though, so for the time being, he figured that he was not going to tell Steve anything until he had convinced King T’Challa to relinquish the possession of Barnes’ cryopod to him. Thus began the multiple and long-drawn-out phone calls between Tony and the Wakandan royalty to convince the latter that the former had a plan to help the cryo-frozen ex-army and that he didn’t intend to take cold-blooded revenge by throwing the cryopod in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Tony knew it was not going to be easy to convince the African monarch both to surrender Barnes over and to not tell Steve about Tony’s plan, but seeing the entire endeavor as an exercise in diplomacy, he persisted.

Finally, T’Challa relented on giving up Barnes but insisted on having his trusted people deliver the cryopod to The Avengers compound’s doorstep themselves, one sunny day in  late March, to not give Tony the opportunity to chuck the pod somewhere because T’Challa was still of the opinion that Tony was a bloody vindictive bastard.

When he finally had Barnes’ pod settled and put under FRIDAY’s 24/7 lookout, Tony finally reached out to Steve after their disaster of a close encounter last Christmas by sending the Captain a curt and impersonal text message:

_Be at the workshop by 2pm sharpish. Need to give something of yours back. –TS_

Tony, despite himself, was actually looking forward to the intellectual challenge that Barnes’ problem presented him with. This came at the nick of time, too, as Rhodey was already well on his way to full recovery. Last that Tony checked through the surveillance feeds, Rhodey was already running circuits in the compound, having advanced from running laps around the training room just two weeks ago. Next, Rhodey would already be donning the War Machine armor to do flying sims and drills with Wilson like he was always meant to, and Tony was very much looking forward to that, that he, himself, was thinking of taking the prototype Mark LIV for a nice fly-by once the War Machine was back in the skies.

Then again, with Barnes now at the compound, Tony expected to be busy again that, he hoped, he wouldn’t have time to get reamed by Rhodes on his self-imposed isolation or to dwell on his increasingly recurring flashbacks featuring the good ol’ Star Spangled Man with a Plan.

He could keep wishing…

At precisely two o’clock in the afternoon, Tony’s recoding work was interrupted by the hissing of his pneumatic doors open, admitting one Captain America in his faded Levi’s, worn Nikes and too-tight V-necked Beatles shirt. The blonde was barely three strides into the workshop when he froze in his steps realizing that Barnes’ cryopod stood right smack in the middle of Tony Stark’s workshop.

“Tony? Why—wh—what is Bucky’s pod doing here? How—how did—“ Steve stammered, taken aback by the imposing machine that was the containment pod of his frozen best buddy.

“That’s not the only thing I asked you down here for,” Tony began then bent over and unzipped the Captain America shield from its black carrier bag. “Think fast,” he said, softly tossing the shield through the short distance that separated him from the Captain.

Due to muscle memory and deeply ingrained habit, probably, Steve caught the shield easily. His eyes were wide and bright in the LED illumination of the workshop, flitting from Barnes’ cryopod to the shield in his hands to Tony, who was standing self-assuredly a few paces away from him.

“That’s rightfully yours, so…” Tony trailed off, feeling uncharacteristically self-conscious around Steve that he wanted to curse the flashbacks he had been suffering from even more so at that moment. “You should have that back.”

“And Bucky? Tony, what’s Bucky’s pod doing here? Why didn’t T’Challa tell me anything?”

“Barnes is here because I’ve decided to modify my Binarily Augmented Retro Framing tech to use on him. To deprogram the Winter Soldier,” Tony answered without his usual bravado and embellishments.

“You’re really going to help him? Even if he was responsible for your parents’ death?” Steve asked, voice atypically soft.

“What’s done is done. My parents have been dead for _twenty-five years_ now; that’s a long time ago. Besides, even if I kill Barnes with my bare hands over and over, it’s never gonna bring my mom back,” replied Tony in between calming breaths. “Who was it who’d said that ‘to whom much is given, much is required’?”

“I—Jesus…in the gospel of Luke?” Steve answered, a bit uncertain if Tony was expecting an answer.

Tony snapped his fingers, gestured towards Steve and said, “ah! Also, _JFK_. I think he said something like that, too.” Stepping closer to the cryopod, Tony studied Barnes’ sleeping face—the face of his mother’s murderer—and actually felt nothing of the rage that had almost consumed him in Siberia. “I have the technology, the resources, the talent to be able to save an innocent from being used as a weapon against his will; If I can save him, give him back the life and the free will they had stolen from him, then maybe no one else will have to die by his hands like my mom did.”

“After everything that’s happened, for you to still do this…tha—“

“ _Thank me_ when you have him back,” Tony said curtly. “We don’t know what state he’ll be in once he’s awake—he could have reverted back to being a _tabula rasa_ ; he might still be able to remember everything up until the last time he was put under again; or he might be James Barnes from the 40s with no memory of the intervening time he had spent as the Fist of HYDRA. You’ll have to be patient with the process of trying to get him back and removing HYDRA’s control over him.”

Steve nodded, accepting and determined. The hands clutching the vibranium shield tightened in their hold. “I trust you, Tony.”

“Do you, really?” Tony wanted to flinch with how adversarial that sounded.

“I know I’ve never given you any reason to believe that I do trust you,” Steve began, squarely meeting Tony’s eyes. “But I do.” He opened his mouth as if to say something more, but he stopped himself, biting his lower lip in hesitation.

If Steve apologized anew, Tony would scream. Thankfully, the Captain didn’t.

“I’ll let you know once we’re all prepped for the defrost sequence. We’ll know for sure what we have to work with once he’s awake,” Tony said, steering the subject away from their precarious truce and, at the same time, signaling that their short meeting was about to come to an end.

Remembering how he was brushed off when he tried to thank Tony, Steve contented himself with nodding once before slowly turning on his heels to leave, tucking the shield under an arm.

“I still haven’t forgiven you, Rogers. Just so we’re clear on that,” Tony called; he just couldn’t resist. He watched Steve freeze in his tracks, but the latter didn’t turn around.

“But I’ve stopped being mad at you, so…” Tony added with a petulant purse of his lips. To which Steve’s only reply was a turn of his head so his profile was visible to Tony and on his lips was the softest of smiles.

Middle ground: nailed it.


	4. 04. BUCKY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky is awake!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now, we get to see Bucky again after having been put under for nearly a year! Yay! 
> 
> The brain is such a complicated organ; it's marvelous. If I hadn't gone down the path of law, I would have wanted to study psychology or neuroscience (I like reading journals related to them well enough) myself. I know there're so many ways this could go, but I think how I decided to take Bucky's awakening is most believable for me. It also is the one that provides the most opportunity. Someone with no previous misconceptions/prejudices against Tony seems the most likely to find themselves wanting to know more about the genius. And probably would end up knowing him like no one ever had...
> 
> Let me know what you think by clicking the Comment and Kudos buttons; I would love to know your opinions! If there are any issues, typos or inconsistencies in the story, please don't hesitate to point them out. I would love to improve on the story and my writing in general. And I need your help with that *wink*.
> 
> Don't forget to ENJOY!  
> \---

The first thing that he was conscious enough to feel was blind panic. It was followed by a barrage of sensations like repeated blows of a machete to his brain—the needle of an IV line in his flesh arm, the white light blazing overhead, antiseptic smell of his sheets, the creaking of the bed, the steadily quickening beeping coming from a bank of unrecognizable machines, the blast of cold air from the ceiling vents, and the fact that he was picking these sensations up. And his sensory overload-induced nausea was again replaced by alarm.

For an entire interminable minute, he couldn’t remember anything but the cold, shackles around his torso, a five-pointed black star on a field of red, the bare bones of an unforgiving machine… He couldn’t remember his name or where he was. His mind was just a muddle of sensations he couldn’t make heads or tails of. He proceeded to take stock of his body; he knew at least that he was supposed to have ten fingers and toes, two feet, two legs, two ar—and froze when he noticed that he was lacking a left arm. There was just a silver stump in a black sock where his left arm was supposed to be. He was a cripple and he couldn’t, for the life of him, remember what had happened that led him to lose the arm or when and where it happened.

The beeping rose to a crescendo, much like the thundering of his heart. He was panicking; he was gulping in air like he had been running for miles and miles. Clenching his right hand into a fist, he tried to bear down on the terror filling his insides, making bile rise to his mouth.

_James Buchanan Barnes._

The name came unbidden but surged to the forefront of his mind and shone like a beacon in the darkness of his panic. Was that him? Was that his name? Why couldn’t he remember?

_Bucky._

“Buck?” The door to his right had opened and a tall, muscular blonde man entered with that word— _name_?—upon his lips, worry and surprise on his face and a mug of something steaming in his hand. “Do you… do you know who I am?” The man asked, hesitant.

He wanted to answer that he didn’t, but something stopped him. He didn’t know the blonde man’s _name_ , but something in the depths of his gut told him that he _knew_ this man. “I know you, but I… I can’t remember your name.” He wanted to apologize, but he didn’t know for what. How could this man even expect him to know the man’s name, when he couldn’t even remember his own? “I can’t—“

“Just relax. It’s alright. They said you might not and it might take time and therapy before you could remember… I—we—didn’t expect you to regain consciousness before Easter. But this—this is good,” said the blonde man calmly, gently nudging the door closed and taking a seat on a straight-backed chair by the right flank of his bed.

“Easter?” He knew what Easter was, at least. That eased his burgeoning panic a bit.

“What—what’s the date today?” How _long_ had he been asleep? How come he couldn’t remember the last time he had been awake?

“It’s April 11, 2017,” the man helpfully supplied, cradling the steaming mug in between his big hands, and, leaning forward, propped his elbows on his knees. “You missed your birthday.”

“My birthday?” He croaked, panic rising anew. It was _2017_ ; he didn’t know why that was relevant. And his _birthday_? When _was_ his birthday? He couldn’t remember the last time he had celebrated his birthday—or any occasion, for that matter.

“Yeah, you did. But we could still celebrate—if you want,” offered the man with a small tentative smile. There was unmistakable pity in those blue eyes. And worry, maybe? But there was also relief there. Who was this man to him? Something niggling at the back of his head told him that this man was important to him. And maybe he was important to this man as well.

“Bucky…” He started in a barely audible murmur. “That’s my name, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” the blonde man answered with a tight-lipped smile and kind blue eyes. “Are—are you hungry? Do you want something to eat? I could get some food for you…“

“It’s alright; I’m not really all that hungry,” Bucky admitted, and then, with a bit of hesitation, asked the other occupant in the room, “what—what’s _your_ name? I feel like I know you, but I…” He trailed off. It was the last thing he wanted to harp on again, but he couldn’t help himself. He didn’t want to appear as lost as he felt inside but there really was nothing else there. Apart from, maybe, dread. There was something about waking up with no memory about who one was in an alien place. At least, he had not awoken in the dark. There was also something about darkness that left a coppery taste in his mouth.

“My name is Steve. Steve Rogers. It’s OK; don’t stress about trying to remember me right this instant. Give it time, Buck, and before you know it, things will be coming back to you,” the blonde man— _Steve_ —reassured again.

“Are you allowed to tell me where I am?” _Siberia_. Was Siberia a place? He didn’t know what made him think about Siberia, but cold trickled down his spine at the thought of hearing that from Steve as answer to his question. _Please not Siberia._

“Yes,” Steve replied, haltingly. “You’re in a facility located in upstate New York.”

“Are you allowed to tell me what happened to my left arm?”

“I don’t know if I should. We were hoping you could try to recover these memories by yourself instead of them being merely told to you,” Steve said, fidgeting. Bucky could tell he was more than just slightly uncomfortable now. “Maybe I should…go call one of your doctors. They’d be in a better position than I am to assist you.” Steve made to stand and head for the door.

But the next words out of Bucky’s mouth froze the blonde in his tracks. The next words out of Bucky’s mouth surprised even _himself_. “Please… Don’t leave.” He didn’t know why but he actually felt safer with the blonde man around. He dreaded to think who might be storming into his room after Steve left. _Soldiers in berets packing high-powered arms off to lead him to a hall where he would be shackled to a machine_.

Bucky didn’t know where that image could have come from—maybe it was a memory. It made the side of his head twinge but he fought down the urge to show any visible reaction. Steve was twitchy enough as it was; Bucky didn’t want to cause the other man any more distress that might make him leave.

“I’ll stay right here then. I’m not going anywhere,” the other man reassured, sitting back on his seat and entwining his fingers together on his lap.

Bucky felt sleepy and exhausted all of a sudden, and, as his eyelids grew heavy, said: “alright… OK, Stevie.”

He didn’t see the visible start that the blonde man did or the flicker of elation in those baby blue eyes when the all-too familiar nick name escaped from his lips.

In the course of the next two days, Bucky slept shallowly, but slept nevertheless. He was awake most of the time, though, but kept his eyes closed. Sometimes, Steve was there, reading a book or sketching, but the latter would hardly notice that Bucky was awake. Sometimes, Bucky woke up alone and he would force his eyes closed to try to fall asleep again, half-terrified that the soldiers in berets would show up to haul him out of the bed to be taken to the room with the machine. The machine that did something to his brain. That machine that, with every surge of painful electricity through his head, gouged out who he was supposed to be and replaced him with something sinister—something inhuman and mindless.

When he woke up this time, he was alone in the room again but there were hissed voices outside his door that, with minimal strain, he could actually hear loud and clear. One of the voices was Steve, but the other’s—another man—was not familiar to Bucky.

“—Retro Framing will need at least a week more in beta. He was only put under observation to appease his doctors about his vitals and to see if any of his memories come to him naturally,” the unfamiliar voice said in a lilting but rapid cadence. “Don’t tell him stories about his past unless _he_ brings them up himself. We don’t want him to think that his recollections are being _suggested_ to him. If you try to nudge him into remembering something, we don’t know what exactly he would end up remembering. We don’t want to cause him unnecessary agony until we’re ready. Just try to keep him calm in the meantime, Cap.”

“I’m right on top of that,” said a voice that Bucky was certain was Steve’s. “Anything else I can do to help, Tony?”

“Try to take notes of everything he tells you so we can have a wireframe of the terrain of his memories.” There was a brief pause before the unfamiliar voice, the man that Bucky presumed to be Tony, spoke again. “His vitals are looking good. Blood work’s clear, too. His brain chemistry is within normal parameters most of the time. It might be iffy, trying to get him into an MRI machine, so you will probably need to be creative to cajole him into one because we need more information on his brain activity. Depending on his receptivity to how the BARF works, we may need a detailed neuropsych eval from a third party-expert, _but_ I won’t bring one in until we really, really need it,” the unfamiliar voice said. “We’re trying to keep this away from the prying eyes of Ross and his minions, so we’re keeping things close to the chest. I’m also exploring other means to break the programming. I’ll let you know about them once I have more information.”

“Well, I trust your judgment,” Steve conceded with thankfulness lacing his voice that not the walls or the heavy wooden door could hide from Bucky. “Would you…like to step inside, see if he’s awake?”

There was silence as the man called Tony must have hesitated in accepting the invitation, but when the door leading to the hallway opened, Bucky realized that Tony accepted. Steve and another man—one of slighter build, with tousled dark brown, almost black hair, and eyes like warm honey—entered the room, one after the other. Bucky had no time to pretend he was still asleep.

“Oh good—you’re awake… Buck, there’s someone I want you to meet,” Steve began, gesturing towards the slighter man behind him. “This is Tony… Tony—“

“— _Stark_ , I know him. I…don’t know how I know him,” Bucky interrupted, noticing how both newcomers gave a start that he knew the name. But like he’d said, he didn’t know how he knew that the man was a Stark. All Bucky knew was that there was something about Tony Stark that was familiar to him. “But I do. Have—have we met before today?” Bucky directed his inquiry both to Steve and Tony Stark.

The two stared at each other, meaningfully. Maybe they were assessing how much to tell him. Maybe this was another one of them things that Bucky needed to remember for himself. But he wished they would answer him. He was tired of being a mere spectator in his own life, of waiting for the chaotic memories in his head to make sense, of reckoning by sheer gut instinct if he had been a good or a bad person before his memories ran out on him. He wanted to be put out of his misery. He just wanted to know who James Buchanan Barnes was.

“We didn’t get a chance to talk much but we _have_ been introduced,” Stark confirmed with a sad smile that didn’t quite reach his gold eyes. “It’s great to see you awake and responsive, James. Is it alright if I call you James?”

“I don’t think I like going by that name. It just…doesn’t sound like me. I think I prefer to be called Bucky,” he said, tentative. “Is it alright if you call me Bucky instead?”

“Of course. Whatever you find comfortable. So…” Stark said dismissively before trailing off, walking closer to Bucky’s hospital bed albeit with a slight trepidation. “Do you need anything—are you comfortable? Any food cravings? Food may be the trigger to unlocking a treasure-trove of childhood memories—just ask Proust,” Stark began to ramble but realized that he was, so he hastily cleared his throat and closed his mouth into a tight line.

“I’m comfortable. Thank you,” said Bucky. “Are you a doctor?”

“In a manner of speaking,” answered the brunette with a slight quirk of the corners of his lips. “Not a _medical_ doctor, I’m afraid. But I do have three doctorates,” joked the newcomer to make light of the situation.

“A doctorate in psychology then?”

Stark hesitated, stealing a quick and visibly uncomfortable glance at Steve. “Close enough. Mechanical Engineering.”

Bucky’s lips quivered in amusement at that. He was still undecided whether or not to like the slighter man, but there was definitely something intriguing about how Tony Stark was practically buzzing with pent-up energy beneath his olive skin—like it was punishment for him to keep still.

“Think of me as a _mechanic_ of sorts. Or a mad scientist,” Stark continued straight-forwardly. Something also told Bucky that the man was not in the habit of mincing his words or censoring himself from what exactly was going on in his mind. “So you _are_ acquainted with the concept of psychology?”

“Yes. I think it’s only specifics that I don’t…really know.” Or he knew but couldn’t recall.

“We’re working on that. But we need you to trust us, especially Steve here. There will be a need to undergo tests that might be particularly triggering for you, but don’t worry about it because Steve will make sure that no harm comes to you. All right?”

It was then that Bucky noticed the difference between Steve and Stark when it came to dealing with him. Stark was all-business, impersonal, _clinical_ ; he employed a kind and calm voice but Bucky couldn’t feel any real emotional investment on the brunette’s part. Steve, on the other hand, always looked at Bucky with such animated interest in his cerulean eyes. There was sadness, relief and contagious _hope_ in his smile—a smile that was hauntingly recognizable and reminiscent of cold winters past spent huddled together under the same thin blanket with nothing but the light of a gnarled candle with which to see.

Bucky felt both anchored and weighed down by what he could guess was Steve’s deep affection for him: anchored because Steve, whose compassion was palpable, was the only one that Bucky could somewhat remember in this place that was almost completely alien to him; and weighed down because Bucky could see the expectation in every feature on Steve’s face—expectation of a memory of a shared joke, a common friend, a defining event, very few of which Bucky could recall, if he could even recall _anything_ at all.

And it pressured him, frustrated him greatly that another seemed to know him better than he knew himself.

“I understand,” Bucky answered. “Do I have to stay here while I’m undergoing these…tests?” He wished he didn’t have to. He was suffocated by the four walls of this room; he hoped that with more external stimuli, he could jog his brain into remembering more about himself.

“Actually,” Stark began with furrowed brows, seemingly weighing the question. “You don’t need to. All your current vitals should be good enough for your doctors. There’s actually no real reason to keep you here but that it was standard operating procedure to put you under further observation for the next 72 hours from regaining consciousness.” Then cocking his head towards Steve, continued, “but if you can talk Steve into it, he might be able to smuggle you out of here to take you to the residential building and meet the rest of the people staying here.”

Steve looked at Stark reproachfully; Bucky didn’t know if Steve was more put out by the idea of smuggling him out or introducing him to the rest of the residents.

“So… I gotta go back to work, but it was great seeing you awake,” Stark excused, gesturing towards Bucky and then, turning to Steve, said, “I wasn’t kidding when I said you can get him out of the med building. See you, boys, around then.”

Stark was gone before Bucky could contemplate again whether or not he liked the man.

-0-0-0-

Meeting the rest of the facility’s residents who collectively called themselves The Avengers was surreal at best. Bucky couldn’t believe at first that he was meeting real-life _superheroes_. He instinctively knew about the concept, and he was of the opinion that there were no such thing as actual superheroes outside of fiction, and yet here they were:

Wanda could move things with her mind; Scott could shrink into the size of an ant or grow into the size of a twenty-storied building through a serum contained in a super suit; Sam had cybernetic wings enabling him to fly; Jim had full-body armor that could fly and was a one-man squadron with the vast array of weapons he had at his disposal; Stephen could do actual _magic_ and reality manipulation; Peter could climb walls and had superhuman strength, agility, stamina, and precognitive reflexes, and he could shoot high-tensile webbing out of wrist shooters of his own invention to enable him to swing to and from buildings; Natasha knew all forms of martial arts, could use all sorts of weapons, and even though slightly-built, could incapacitate or kill even the likes of Steve within minutes; Steve was imbued with the Super Soldier Serum practically giving him enhanced everything—intelligence, durability, strength, stamina, agility, senses and reflexes; and Vision was an omniscient android partly made of indestructible vibranium, which in itself was super enough.

They were intimidating, at first, especially when Bucky was being shown what they could do, but after the initial awe and shock, on Bucky’s part, it was easy to see how they were just like a family—they bickered and bantered like immature siblings, but it was undeniable that they deeply cared for each other and held each other in very high regard.

“Clint’s coming over soon. He’ll be thrilled to be introduced to you— _again_ ,” Wanda informed Bucky with a small smile as she passed along to him the big bowl of greens that was one of their fare for lunch.

Clint Barton, he was told, was, like him, a sniper, particularly favoring the bow and arrow for his weapon, who could shoot anything—even a fast-moving target and even from a great distance. He wasn’t currently in the compound because he was already retired from the ‘superhero business’.

“When Thor and Bruce come back, we’d introduce you to them, too,” Natasha assured, turning wistful for a moment at the mention of their absent teammates that Bucky thought he might have just imagined it.

He was told that Thor was an alien prince from the realm of Asgard, wielder of Mjolnir, a powerful hammer that could summon lightning; and Dr. Bruce Banner was a scientific genius, who when wrongly provoked would turn into the Hulk, a being fifty times stronger and tougher than Steve, if not more.

“What about Stark?” Bucky asked, curious. “Is he also a superhero like you guys?”

The table fell silent for a heartbeat, like everyone suddenly grew tense over the mention of Stark. But everyone was quick to recover, and it was Jim who spoke first: “Tony is the creator and pilot of the Iron Man armor, which is just like mine, only his is much sleeker with less bulky weaponry and cooler features. He does invent the best things for himself.”

“He _created_ the armor?”

“Yep—built it in a cave using scraps and then later on, improved on it. I actually _appropriated_ my War Machine armor from him, but I’m too stubborn to give it back so he let me keep it. He’s also the one who continuously upgrades the gear and get-up of everyone on this table,” Jim explained between small bites of his chicken.

“He created FRIDAY, too,” Peter butted in, chewing his food messily.

“That’s right—you haven’t met FRIDAY yet,” Steve snapped, remembering the oversight. “FRIDAY meet Bucky. Bucky, say hello to FRIDAY.”

“ _Hello Mr. Barnes,_ ” a chipper female voice with a soft Irish lilt sounded all over the room. Instinctively, Bucky looked up at the ceiling. “ _My name is FRIDAY, I am what you may classify as an artificial intelligence but, more particularly, I am a computer system user interface designed by Mr. Stark to help him pilot the Iron Man armor, but I have since been uploaded also to the Avengers Facility mainframe to help administer the compound and assist the Avengers in any way. It is a pleasure to meet you._ ”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Bucky said haltingly, unsure where to look and how exactly to address the disembodied voice. He looked at the rest of the Avengers crowded around the table for some kind of confirmation if he was doing the right or wrong thing in addressing Tony Stark’s creation.

“If you need anything, just ask FRIDAY. She’s very helpful,” Peter supplied with a knowing nod.

After that, Bucky just contented himself with watching the group’s interaction for the rest of the day and during dinner in pensive silence.

He still slept in the medical building that night, but Steve promised that he would have a room in the residential building to sleep in beginning the following night.

Early the next day saw him in the training room, wordlessly observing the sparring between Sam and Jim, and later on, between Natasha and Jim. Steve was the one facilitating.

When Jim took a break to allow Sam and Natasha to engage each other, the former airman, toweling his face off, sat down beside Bucky. “Is it just me or they seem extra hard on you with the back-to-back sparring?” Bucky asked, off-hand.

“I _want_ them to be hard on me. I have a lot of training to catch up on. I’d been injured, you see,” explained Jim, bunching the towel on his lap. “Busted my spine and, for nearly a year, couldn’t walk unless I’m in this exoskeleton which compensates for the movement my legs should have been making. I thought that was it for me.”

“What happened? How did you recover?”

“Tony created the exoskeleton to allow me to undergo therapy and later on, he—uh—modified a serum that targets the body’s healing factor so my spine could repair itself and here I am, hale and hearty again—thanks to that crackpot,” Jim narrated with, Bucky could tell, much fondness and affection for the engineer and the latter’s efforts to get him back on his feet again.

“So, you know—this situation of yours is just…it _sucks_. But you’re in good hands and this is not permanent. Recovery is just a matter of time. Tony, for one, is not going to stop until he has you all sorted out. I’m living proof of that,” Jim guaranteed with conviction etched on his face. “Plus, you know—Steve is not going to let this one go until you’re you again. That’s _two_ of the most stubborn people I know, so just…everything’s gonna be fine.”

The evening saw him in the warm company of The Avengers again for dinner. Steve kept looking at him funny, and Bucky thought it might have something to do with his preference to observe in silence.

And Bucky’s observation was: it had been two whole days now and several group meals that the Avengers were without Tony Stark, who was supposedly one of them but was notably a no-show, not even for the sake of food. As an outsider and mere observer of the team’s dynamics, that struck him as odd. Did the engineer even live in the facility, too? If he did, was the man that busy that he couldn’t even stop to get a bite to eat with the other people who were supposedly part of the same superhero team as he was?

As they were, the team seemed complete and their dynamics impeccable. Like they, themselves, weren’t missing anyone from their ranks. Except maybe Jim, who would steal a surreptitious glance, once or twice, towards the staircase leading to the residential building’s lower levels as if he was still expecting someone to saunter in and join them.

It made Bucky curious, alright.

Soon enough, the other residents retired to their own bedrooms and Bucky was shown back to the room that was supposed to be his by Steve. “So…if you need anything, don’t hesitate to give me a call. Just tell FRIDAY if you need me and she’ll pass the message along,” said Steve, hanging about in the threshold to Bucky’s room.

Bucky nodded wordlessly, already looking around the room he had already been briefly shown earlier that day and noticing that there were new additions since he had been there last. The bedding had been changed from a generic white to a printed blue one; there were stacks of books both on the bedside table and the bigger table that was pushed against the wall; there was a cushioned recliner beside a tall lamp that looked comfortable for some reading; and there was a thin, notebook-like thing with a dark glass surface on the table—what it was, Bucky couldn’t quite figure out yet.

“FRIDAY watches over the entire compound—she has eyes even in our individual bedrooms—for security purposes, but you can ask her to suspend visual if you need privacy. She also has limited access to your en suite bathroom to maintain privacy,” Steve reminded. He paused, thinking of other things to tell Bucky. There was something about the way Steve carried himself that got Bucky into thinking that the blonde was hesitant to leave him alone, probably thinking he was going to freak or something. “Are you going to be alright by yourself here, Buck?”

“I’ll be fine, Steve. And FRIDAY is with me; ain’t that right, FRIDAY?”

“ _Of course, Mr. Barnes. There’s no need to worry, Captain,_ ” FRIDAY said soothingly.

Since there was no one to observe anymore, Bucky became preoccupied with nothing else but his own thoughts and his sparse memories. He lay prostrate on the too-big and too-soft bed with his eyes shut tight; he tried to calm himself to get some shut-eye, but the back of his eyelids were populated by a jumble of faces, snow, asphalt spattered with blood, men in berets, exploding cars, the world through the scope of a sniper’s gun, and the bones of a machine the purpose of which he still couldn’t recall. Only that the memory of it would always send his breath catching in his throat and his head throbbing that it felt like it was going to implode.

He clenched the only hand he had. Was it just him or was he feeling gooseflesh breaking out in the limb he no longer had? The room was so quiet that he could hear his every shaky inhale. And screams. And begging. And gunshots…

Sitting bolt upright, Bucky drew in shaky breath after shaky breath, feeling the panic begin to consume him again like bile churning endlessly in his gut.

“ _Mr. Barnes, are you quite alright? I am detecting elevated blood pressure, increased pulse rate and hyperventilation. I’m calling Captain Rogers,_ ” FRIDAY said, worry was surprisingly detectable in her voice.

“No, FRIDAY—wait—don’t call Steve. I’ll be fine. I’m just…I think I need water or—or tea, maybe. Do you think you can direct me back to the kitchen?” Bucky asked, getting off the bed without lollygagging as if the bed just electrocuted him.

“ _Of course, Sir._ ”

After stumbling into the kitchen again, Bucky set out preparing a cup of tea for himself as quietly as he could and nursed it on the kitchen counter, for how long, he couldn’t tell anymore. He was immersed in his stormy thoughts, unsure whether even half of what he was seeing flashing behind his eyes was truth or lies. Was he some kind of mercenary who killed for money, power or—worse—the sheer pleasure and high of taking a human being’s life? If he was, then why was Steve or Stark or any of these superheroes helping him? He hunched in on himself, wanting to make himself as small as he could. What was going to happen once his memories returned? Would he go back to being the murderer he suspected he was?

The amnesiac was lost in a maze of his own not-so-happy musings when someone cavorted into the kitchen, unconcerned with keeping quiet and possibly disturbing the others.

It was Tony Stark, surfacing after over 48 hours since Bucky had seen him last. The engineer froze in his tracks, seemingly stunned that someone was up and about at that hour of—Bucky only just noticed, too— _three_ in the morning.

“Hey,” Stark said by way of uncertain greeting.

To which Bucky also said, “hey.”

The newcomer appeared unperturbed by the current occupant of the kitchen and just went about doing what he had come there to do, stuffing boxes of Dingdongs and Twinkies, a couple of large bags of chips and a couple of bottles of soda in a sackcloth bag. Bucky just followed the engineer around with watchful eyes.

“Having a party in your room?” Bucky finally asked, failing to contain his curiosity.

“Oh—this is just, uh—I’m restocking my snack stash in my workshop,” Stark explained, finally feeling a tad awkward about the whole encounter. “You’re another early riser, I see.”

“I don’t really know if I am. I—uh—can’t sleep,” Bucky corrected Stark’s wrong impression.

“Is the room they’ve shacked you up in not comfortable enough? What—lumpy mattress? Bad view? Hissing pipes, maybe?”

“No. It’s comfortable.”

“Then you should really use it,” Stark suggested, matter-of-factly.

“I will—I _do_.” Bucky appreciated the room, and he wanted it clear to the engineer that he did. It wasn’t the room that was wrong. It was everything that was—and _wasn’t_ —in his head.

“Have you met the others?” Tony asked, putting the bag on the counter to try to rearrange the contents so it didn’t have to look like it was going to explode.

“Yes.” Silence.

“You don’t like talking much, do you?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky admitted. Which happened to be true. He didn’t have a past. He didn’t know what he liked or didn’t like; he didn’t know himself. “I don’t know what to talk about. I don’t even know who I am.” He sounded bitter. He didn’t want to because he didn’t want to sound like an insolent lout to the people who were helping him.

“This condition is not permanent, you know,” Tony countered. “I’m developing something—a _device_ ; once I’m done testing it, you can use it to sort you out.”

“Who are you testing it on?” Maybe that was the reason that the engineer was a no-show recently; he had been busy, consumed by a project. To help Bucky. Just like he helped and sorted Jim out.

Snorting, Stark answered, “myself, of course—I mean, who else is there?”

“Will that device work on me? I—“ Bucky hesitated. He wasn’t right in the head, if the jumbled images running through it were anything to go by. He was a very disturbed man, who might have done a lot of bad things in his life. Until he just forgot it all. Maybe it had been his choice to wipe his own mind, so he didn’t have to live with all the distasteful things he had done. Maybe to try to bring them all back was a terrible idea after all… “I think I might have a lot of…issues—a lot of trauma and bad stuff to deal with.”

“Join the club, pal,” Stark practically spat with undeniable resentment, shouldering his bag of goodies. And before Bucky could really process anything from the cryptic reply, Stark was gone with nary a word of goodbye.


	5. 05. STEVE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve basks in having Bucky back. Meanwhile, Tony realizes that the BARF is not going to be enough and more drastic measures need to be resorted to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you guys are starting to find things a bit slow-going, I wish to remind y'all that this is a Slow Build story. Just please bear with me...
> 
> I am happy that I've seemed to develop a habit of writing fairly often now so I get to update regularly. Thankfully, also, my job is currently cooperative, nice and light, so I actually get some writing done. Here's to hoping that I can maintain this... But just in case I don't, Imma need your encouragement which you can provide by hitting those Comment and Kudos buttons so I can know your thoughts on how the story is going.
> 
> Same drill, please--let me know of any typos and inconsistencies so they can be corrected... It's a long weekend here at home, so with hope, I can make the most out of that time and really make a dent on this one... But until then--
> 
> ENJOY!!!  
> \---

Steve awoke at barely the crack of dawn on Easter Sunday, refreshed and surprisingly well-rested. He even took the luxury of dawdling in bed with his arm pillowed under his head, content and, for the first time in months, truly and unashamedly happy. He would finally get to spend time with Bucky again. Though the former Sergeant was still without his memories, for Steve, the most important thing was that Bucky was _awake_ and there was a great chance that he would recover and be himself again.

After giving himself some time to grin like an idiot at the ceiling, Steve hauled himself out of bed, did his ablutions and then asked FRIDAY if Bucky was already up and about.

“ _Mr. Barnes is in the kitchen, Captain,_ ” FRIDAY informed.

Thanking the AI, Steve made his way to the kitchen with every intention of passing up on his supposedly daily run in favor of making breakfast. He convinced himself that he was going to do that not only because of and for Bucky but also for the rest of the team. It _was_ Easter after all, so a special breakfast was not going to be peculiar.

When Steve arrived in the kitchen, he found Bucky seated rigidly on one of the chairs on the counter, nursing a cup of tea that had long since gone cold. The brunette looked to be in some sort of trance with the way he was staring off into space.

“Hey Buck—good morning,” Steve greeted, and that did the trick of snapping his friend out of his thoughts as if he had been in deep sleep and only just realized where he was and who had greeted him.

“Hello. Good morning,” Bucky greeted back with a thin-lipped smile. He still seemed a bit dazed and glassy-eyed but Steve decided not to comment on it.

“Did you sleep well?” Steve asked, furtively looking at Bucky as he got breakfast started by taking down the pans and pantry items he was going to need for some banana-walnut pancakes, scrambled eggs and ham steaks. And though he was certain that Tony was not going to join them for the meal, Steve still got the coffee machine started like he always did when he would volunteer to make breakfast. It was a form of wishful thinking of sorts on his part.

“Not really,” admitted Bucky with a crestfallen face. “It’s not the room, though—the room’s perfect. I just—“

“Don’t worry about it. Things’ll get better,” assured Steve, then he walked up to where Bucky was seated and lightly patted his friend’s shoulder in sympathy. He could only imagine the horror that Bucky must be feeling: to wake up with no memory of who he was, in a place that was completely unfamiliar to him, and be in the company of people he was unsure if he had any real connection with. It was enough to freak anyone out.

At least when Steve woke up in the 21st century, he knew who he was supposed to be. It still devastated him, hearing that his friends—everyone he knew, really—were either gone or dying, but it gave him a smidgeon of comfort that his friends had all been able to live full lives while he slept. He remembered grieving for Bucky anew, thinking about the life Bucky would’ve led had Steve caught him on the train that day or how Bucky would’ve loved seeing how the future turned out.

But now the days of grieving were long past. Bucky was with Steve again. He was back where he had always belonged.

“Happy Easter, by the way,” Steve greeted with a wide smile as he started preparing breakfast in earnest.

“Happy… Easter,” Bucky hesitatingly said, returning Steve’s infectious smile with a sad one of his own. “Do you need help with cooking?” He asked, eager to change the subject before Steve could try to reassure him once again about the temporariness of his condition.

“Sure,” Steve answered with another relaxed smile.

And it made Steve’s heart swell with happiness as he observed Bucky from out of the corner of his eye in the course of preparing breakfast together. This brought back a lot of fond memories on his part of gray mornings when they barely had anything to eat but they made do with what little they had. Meals, though tight, were something Steve particularly enjoyed, especially when it was prepared by the two of them together. Steve owed a lot to Bucky and his family when they accommodated him after his mother had passed away and before war had broken out.

Though a lot has changed between then and now—they had quite a lot of resources for a substantial breakfast, which they were preparing in a lavish kitchen now—the enjoyment of preparing it with Bucky was still the same.

Bucky seemed more introspective now, but Steve only chalked it up to the fact that the brunette could barely remember anything about himself and his past. Steve was confident that as his memories returned, Bucky would also find himself again and revert back to the happy-go-lucky, snarky, chatty person that he used to be.

The two prepared a good amount of breakfast fare, and before long, they were joined by the rest of the team for a hearty meal.

Steve kept watching Bucky furtively even though he didn’t mean to. A part of him still couldn’t believe that Bucky was there with him—back from the dead, awake and living in the future they didn’t think either of them would see; and another part of him was worried that the former Sergeant was not coping well with the future or was having an internal meltdown because of his lack of memories. Steve knew he was prone to mother-henning people and with Bucky it tended to be a million times worse, but he couldn’t help himself.

“So it’s _Easter_ —don’t we have any plans?” Sam asked the table full of superheroes while they partook of their morning meal.

“Well…for starters— _dinner_ would be good,” Wanda suggested with a purse of her lips. “Unless you guys have something better in mind…”

Natasha piped in, “no, no! Dinner is an awesome idea. Are you and Scott staying, Peter, or do you guys have to go home and celebrate with your families?”

“Aunt May is with some of her friends in Lake Tahoe for the Easter weekend, so I guess I’m staying. What about you, Scott?” Peter answered while he was, as usual, trying to chew a great mouthful of food.

“That settles it, then. If you’re staying, then I guess I have to stay, too. Or you’re all just going to gossip about me to your hearts’ content if I’m the only one who’s not around,” Scott replied, matter-of-factly. Half of the people around the table answered with sarcastic snorts and chortles.

“I’ll call Clint—see if he, Laura and the kids have no other plans so they can join us,” said Nat, to which there were murmurs of assent.

“Hey—um—Bucky had his birthday last month, but he missed it. Maybe—since we’re celebrating anyway—we could make the dinner extra special and include the celebration for Buck’s birthday, too?” Steve asked tentatively, wanting to integrate Bucky further into their group dynamics. Not that Bucky was looking out of place or the group needed to be reminded to make him feel welcome, but Steve just didn’t want Bucky to feel like he was a stranger intruding into affairs that he didn’t have any business including himself in.

“Your birthday, huh?” Rhodey asked, twisting on his seat to catch Bucky’s eye.

Bucky, obviously embarrassed about it, shrugged and said, “it’s alright, guys. There’s really no need to celebrate it. I mean, _I_ can’t even _remember_ when it is so—“

“It’s March 10,” Steve interrupted before Bucky became morose again over being told things about his life that he should remember but couldn’t. Steve knew that Tony had discouraged it—telling Bucky about certain things about himself—but he didn’t feel at all guilty about divulging this particular information. Telling an amnesiac the date of his birth hardly counted as implanting memories that might make Bucky feel like a mere spectator in his own life. No one was supposed to have personal knowledge of the circumstances of their birth anyway—everyone was just merely _told_ of their birthdate by their parents.

“We _should_ celebrate it then,” Stephen affirmed with a soft smile and a nod.

Which they did.

Dinner on Easter Sunday was a lavish affair reminiscent of Christmas. Only for Steve, this was loads more extraordinary because of Bucky’s presence. Even though the latter was not his old, cheerful self, basking in the merriment of a good party, but a quiet, timid wallflower, Steve enjoyed having him around, regardless. This was the first step to getting the old Bucky back, and even if it meant waiting and being patient for years if need be, Steve didn’t mind. He had lost Bucky too many times in the past, he wasn’t going to lose him again by being too expectant for things to fall into place immediately, for Bucky to be the person he used to be when he still had mountains and oceans of issues to deal with.

Introducing Bucky to Clint and his family was strangely satisfying, too. It was because Steve believed Bucky and Clint had a lot in common beginning with their sharp-shooting, unyielding loyalty and wry sense of humor. If only Thor and Bruce were around, too, then the Captain’s family and his contentment would really be complete.

And if only Tony was talking to him and associating with them more, then there was nothing left to be desired, nothing more to ask for, in Steve Rogers’ life.

Sidling up to a quietly watchful Bucky, Steve asked: “having fun, Buck?”

“I am, actually,” Bucky admitted, like he, too, was surprised at how much he was enjoying himself. “Your friends are good people, Steve.”

“They could be _your_ friends, too, you know,” Steve pointed out. “I think they’d like that, and so would you.”

“I wonder if they’d still like me once my past comes to light. I… don’t think I was a very nice person,” said Bucky, averting his eyes from the people fooling around and playing _Twister_ on the living room floor to much raucous laughter.

Breathing a small sigh, Steve replied, “no one is perfect. All of us here in this room, at one point in our lives, were forced to do things we aren’t proud of. But the world is not divided into good people and bad people. We, each of us, are complicated, and it is how we try to right our wrongs that tells us what kind of person we are.” Bumping his shoulder against the brunette’s and pulling the corners of his lips into a small but unmistakable grin, Steve continued, “hey—chin up, OK?”

Silence reigned between the two long-time friends as Steve let Bucky think about what he’d just said. They looked on, Bucky with his inscrutable expression and Steve with his fond one, at the people who were enjoying themselves, oblivious to the two super soldiers’ conversation.

“By the way, where’s Stark? Why isn’t he here?” Bucky suddenly asked. The Captain was taken aback by that query.

“I don’t really know, Bucky. Tony is a—he’s a very busy person. And he prefers to keep to himself,” Steve answered. It sounded lame, even to him. But right then, there was no way he could tell Bucky the real reason for Tony’s stalwart avoidance of the team.

Steve had shared a wordless conversation with Rhodey, while they were both crowding around the table to ladle food on their plates, about Tony’s whereabouts that night. He had furrowed his brows at Rhodey and the latter, implicitly understanding Steve’s silent query, breathed deeply and shrugged. Rhodey must have informed Tony about tonight but either the engineer didn’t answer or he categorically said ‘no’. Regardless, Tony was not going to show up. Again. Like always.

Bucky, thankfully, left it at that and didn’t harp on the subject more.

At least not until after several days when, while they were having lunch with the rest of the team, just after Bucky had undergone an MRI scan accompanied by Steve, the former Sergeant offhandedly asked after Tony again. “Why doesn’t Stark ever join in meals? I mean, does he even really live here with you?”

Natasha’s face closed off into something that very nearly resembled stone before she replied, “oh he lives here alright.”

“So why doesn’t he eat with you guys? It’s been almost a week now since I started hanging out with you and I haven’t seen him join us for a meal, not once,” Bucky asked, hesitant but curious. “Is—is it…because of _me_ or something?”

There was a series of vehement denial from the team members around the table. Of course, it wasn’t because of Bucky. It was complicated; Tony, himself, was complicated, and they didn’t think it was something Bucky could grasp at this time.

Steve, of course, knew the _real_ reason that Tony was always a no-show. Tony had said that he was no longer angry at Steve, but he’d _also_ said that he hasn’t forgiven the Captain yet. Some headway _had_ been made, but they were still far from how they used to be. Tony was still obviously wary of them—of Steve, so he was still distancing himself. Steve had hoped that with Bucky around, Tony could at least appear to be civil since they were both firm in their support of the brainwashed former soldier. But now Bucky, himself, has noticed that something was amiss in Steve’s otherwise remarkable family.

“He’s just probably really busy, consumed by a project. Tony has always been like that,” Steve reasoned. “He’s trying to develop something to help you regain your memories and, you know—sort you out. It’s something really complicated, so he’s probably spending all his time in his workshop, focusing on that.” Steve averted his gaze, looked at Natasha—whose face was deadpan, looked at Rhodey to see the latter’s reaction. He had never been very good at lying, and he was afraid that everyone could see it plainly on his face: the pain of his and Tony’s still very much strained relationship.

“I see,” Bucky simply replied. And on his face was the first, real spontaneous expression that Steve had seen since he’d introduced Bucky to the Avengers, that maybe Bucky himself didn’t realize that he had it on or that Steve noticed it:

Fascination.

-0-0-0-

“It’s not gonna be enough.”

Steve looked up from his sketchbook where he was drawing Bucky—again—and gave what he realized must be a perceptible jump. It was _Tony_. Outside of his workshop. Talking to Steve again after a _week_ since the Captain saw him last when they talked about taking Bucky out of the medical building.

Steve should just be thankful it didn’t take Tony _two months_ before talking to him again this time around.

“What’s not going to be enough?” The blonde asked, lost. He must still be trying to come to terms with the fact that Tony was out of the workshop and speaking to him.

“The BARF. It’s not going to be enough to deprogram the Winter Soldier,” Tony answered, stepping just a bit closer to where Steve was seated by the kitchen counter but coming to a halt still fairly distant from Steve. Like he didn’t want to come any closer in fear that Steve was going to infect him with something aggressively communicable.

Steve felt a painful squeeze in his midriff. Did that mean even Tony couldn’t help Bucky? “What are we going to do?” Steve realized that, lately, Bucky was the only reason that Tony was even speaking to him at all. And if Tony’s technology was not enough to help Bucky—

“Where’s your charge right now?”

“He’s with Vision in the library.”

“Think you can leave him to his own devices for a while?”

“Let me get word to Nat or Sam to keep an eye on him. Why?”

“I think I’m craving a nice, brisk cuppa—English Breakfast maybe,” Tony cryptically said before turning on his heel with a parting call. “Be on the landing pad, ready to leave in 10.”

He went to find Sam and discussed with him the short and cryptic conversation with Tony, asking him to keep an eye on Bucky while he went with the engineer somewhere. He then changed into more decent clothes and was ready and waiting for Tony on the landing paid in 8 minutes.

“Where exactly are we going, Tony?” Steve asked, fidgeting, while he strapped himself down on the co-pilot seat of a quinjet.

“To London. I called in some favors, kissed a few asses and dangled a few bones for possibly the only chance we’re ever gonna get with this guy—clear a few things,” said Tony, mildly distracted by the take-off sequence of the quinjet.

“So we’re meeting someone?”

“The person we’re talking to doesn’t really know we’re coming, no. We’re catching them on the halfway point of a prisoner transfer,” replied Tony, but it didn’t exactly shed light on the mystery surrounding their spur-of-the-moment trip. “You’ll see soon enough, Cap.”

Silence reigned in the quinjet as they shot towards their destination at Mach speed. Tony was uncharacteristically quiet, and Steve hesitated to initiate any conversation in expectation of any of his attempts being horribly shot down by the engineer.

But as Steve’s instincts for self-preservation had never been particularly strong, he plowed ahead and blurted out: “so we missed you on Easter Sunday dinner…”

“Did you? I must have gotten the dates mixed up. I didn’t realize the invite was for _Easter_ ,” Tony dismissively said. “Besides, I was out then.”

Steve might be a lousy liar, but on the flipside, his bullshit detector was pretty spot-on. And right now, Tony was feeding him a good deal of bullshit.

“Bucky was wondering where you were. Reckon he might have taken a shine to you,” Steve made small talk, wanting to make light of their current tension.

Tony snorted but didn’t say anything. So much for initiating conversation. Steve had thought he could get more out of Tony if they talked about Bucky because that was the only subject Tony would speak to him about of late. But seeing the billionaire’s reticence, Steve might have thought wrong.

After a period of silence, Tony spoke up, “and that doesn’t bother you?”

What had they been talking about? “What—what’s supposed to bother me?”

“Your Bucky’s interest about what I get up to when I don’t join the rest of you,” Tony answered without meeting Steve’s eyes. “He doesn’t even know me; why should he concern himself with whether or not I’m getting enough meaningful social interaction with the rest of the team?”

“He’s just curious,” Steve reasoned, uncertain about why they were even talking about it. And he felt a bit disquieted by the way Tony referred to Bucky as ‘your Bucky’.

Tony again broke Steve’s expectations by leaving the subject at that instead of pressing. It didn’t bother Steve that Bucky was curious about Tony. The billionaire’s reclusive nature presently was like a come-on to Bucky—to _anyone_ who didn’t know Tony—to want to know more.

And besides, Tony was probably the least uninteresting person there ever was. Of course, Bucky would want to know more about him.

“He won’t be curious for long once he finds out who I really am,” Tony murmured, more to himself than for the benefit of his companion. Steve could only fidget in response.

There was no more talk about Bucky or about _anything_ after that. Steve didn’t try to initiate any more conversations, thinking that they didn’t need to be any edgier than they already were. And after one of the longest flights across the pond that Steve had ever endured, their quinjet finally touched down on the landing pad of a building overlooking the London Eye.

Steve scrambled after Tony as they made their way to the building lobby via an express elevator. On the curb, in front of the building entrance, a nondescript black sedan was idling and waiting for them. Without breaking his stride, Tony went around the car and slid into the driver’s seat while Steve slid into the front passenger side. As soon as they were both buckled in, Tony revved the car up and took it out of the parking slot and into London’s early afternoon traffic.

“We’re cutting it close, but we’re going to make it. We might never get another chance to get a hold of this guy,” Tony mumbled, giving maneuvering through the thoroughfares of London his laser focus.

“You said it’s a prisoner transfer… Where’s the prisoner being transferred to?” Steve asked.

“The Raft,” answered Tony, knowing that the two words were going to have an impact on Steve.

“They’re still using that facility?” Steve asked with gritted teeth, remembering only too well when he had to rescue his friends from being incarcerated there without the benefit of a trial. “I should have razed it to the bottom of the ocean when I broke into it,” said the Captain with undisguised contempt.

“But you didn’t. So they’re still using it,” countered Tony. “Don’t feel bad for this guy, Rogers. If there’s anyone who deserves to rot in The Raft, it’s him.” The billionaire clenched his jaw quite perceptibly.

It only dawned on Steve who they were really there to accost when they were met by Everett Ross, flanked by four guards in black fatigues, on the surface entrance to a bunker located in an unexceptional side alley a stone’s throw from the Thames.

Tony acknowledged the Deputy Task Force Commander of the Joint Counter Terrorist Center, “Ross.”

“Stark. Captain Rogers,” greeted the slighter blonde man.

The heavy steel doors to the bunker was opened and their party made their way to the subterranean holding area wordlessly. For a time, only the sound of their shoes slapping against wet concrete accompanied them on their journey.

“Wouldn’t the General hear of this?” Steve whispered by the shell of his teammate’s ear as they briskly walked towards the subterranean holding area. It was still fresh on Steve’s mind how Everett Ross had worked closely with Thaddeus Ross in the past to bring Bucky in. He was apprehensive as to what this could entail.

“Ross and Thunderbolt had a sort of parting of the ways after the whole lot of the Avengers who had sided with you were thrown in jail without the observance of any due process whatsoever. And when the real culprit for Vienna was unmasked, and the General was found to have been informed of the real perpetrator but he chose to ignore it, former alliances were quickly denounced by the people who wanted to keep their jobs and stay out of the shitstorm that followed the conflict—Ross being one of them,” Tony murmured back, never once lagging behind in their march. “I vouched for him in the inquiries that followed and made sure to give him a central role in the implementation of the New Sokovia Accords. He owes me big time, so if he knows what’s good for him, he’ll keep this under wraps from any of the General’s hounds.”

They rode a steel elevator to the bowels of the facility and walked some more until they came to a hangar door of sorts. Ross punched in his access code before turning to the pair of superheroes with a reminder: “you have no more than ten minutes.”

“Plenty of time, then,” Tony said cockily, holding out his hand for Ross to take. Ross’ face was nearly set in stone when he extended his hand for a terse handshake with the engineer before he, along with his lackeys, walked away to give them some privacy with the prisoner they’d come there to see.

The hangar-like cave only housed one thing: a containment unit of sorts and within it, seated and strapped, looking bored out of his mind but no less calculating was Col. Helmut Zemo.

“You’re looking good for someone cuffed in a fish tank 24/7, Colonel,” Tony said by way of welcome, walking up to the containment unit so its light would catch him. That way, Zemo wouldn’t have any doubts as to who he was.

“So…” Tony began, casually walking around the containment unit. “Been a while—you remember Captain Rogers, o’ course?”

“Why are you here?” Zemo asked, heading Tony off, with a voice that was eerily calm and breathy. The light from within the containment unit illuminated his passive and disconcertingly dead-looking dark eyes.

“Not one to make small talk, are you? I remember you being plenty talkative in Siberia before you left us there to murder each other,” Tony spat with a cold, sarcastic smile. “Close shave, too. Kudos to you for very nearly succeeding. But I didn’t want to disappoint myself disappointing you by standing here and seeing your reaction with my own eyes while I’m telling you, ‘better luck next time.’”

Steve clenched his jaw while Zemo stayed silent.

“Where’s the red Winter Soldier notebook, Zemo?”

All of Steve’s thought processes momentarily froze when he heard Tony’s question to Zemo. The Winter Soldier notebook. Where Bucky’s programming words were. Bucky made mention of it on the quinjet ride to Siberia supposedly to head off the other Winter Soldiers. Why was Tony after it?

“I destroyed it,” Zemo said, sneering.

“Liar,” Tony calmly said. “Smart guy like you? You must have figured out that you’re not staying in this dump forever, and so you would’ve wanted to keep a trump card stashed away somewhere for another crack at us,” accused the genius-billionaire.

“Actually, I wasn’t expecting to live this long, Mr. Stark,” countered the prisoner, his face seemed like it was set in stone again. “I destroyed the notebook. Sergeant Barnes is never going to be rid of the monsters and horrors that HYDRA had stuffed in his brains. He’s going to wish you had just succeeded in murdering him.” The Sokovian squarely met Tony’s eyes before jeering again.

“For your sake, I do hope you’re lying,” said Tony languidly, opening his fisted palm and producing a circular chip no bigger than a quarter sitting right in the middle of it. “I would like to explain in-depth what this does, but considering how intimate you’ve probably become with Ross, I think you already know. This’ll jolt your rusty memory a bit. Where’s the notebook, Zemo?”

“I destr—“ Zemo began, but he didn’t finish his answer as he started shaking and jerking as much as his secured seat within the containment unit allowed. He clenched his jaw before opening his mouth in a silent scream and letting a mere whimper escape from his mouth.

“Say that again,” Tony dared, flipping the round chip in the air before catching it with a hand at his back. “I might not look it, Colonel, but I’m actually even more of a vindictive asshole than Ross is; and having this little baby in my hands is not _at all_ going to end well for you.”

“Tony…” Steve said, wordless warning evident in his tone of voice. He didn’t know what the chip was or where Tony could have gotten it, but if the unsympathetic and atypically humorless expression on the engineer’s face was anything to go by, Steve could make an intelligent guess that the chip was some sort of torture device.

“I’ve got this, Cap,” Tony answered with a hard set to his jaw and a palm up that was meant to be reassuring but it wasn’t. “This sonofabitch has a lot to answer for anyway.”

“Not like this, he doesn’t.” Steve caught Tony’s brown eyes that were trying to look steel-edged to hide the fact that the orbs had a haunted quality to them. He placed a hand on Tony’s forearm to discourage the latter from having to taint his hands with cruelty. Steve took care not to be forceful on his grasp, merely grounding—enough to remind Tony that torture wasn’t in his nature because while he was a lot of things, cruel wasn’t one of them.

“He ruined the only family I have left,” said Tony, nearly choking on his words. And for a while, Steve thought Tony had slipped away somewhere, into a headspace that was too far away for Steve to try to reel him in. But it was gone three heartbeats later, and Tony’s guarded expression was put back in place.

That nearly broke Steve’s heart knowing that he was a party to that—an unwitting one—but a party, nevertheless. To the ruination of the only family that Tony Stark had left.

_“…You've been a complete idiot, dragging in Clint, rescuing Wanda from a place she doesn't even want to leave—a safe place. I'm trying to keep... I'm trying to keep you from tearing the Avengers apart—“_

Steve, as if burned, loosened his grip on Tony’s forearm.

Pressing the chip again, Tony tore his gaze away from Steve to watch Zemo grind his teeth through the imperceptible but no doubt excruciating agony.

“He didn’t do anything that we cannot fix, Tony. Our _family_ —it’s stronger than any one person’s vendetta,” Steve, finding his voice again, reassured. He seized Tony’s forearm again, and harder that time, while looking pointedly at the round chip as if to wordlessly will the other man to stop using it. He met Tony’s eyes again and shook his head slightly.

And wasn’t that the God’s honest truth, too? Did he not come back to the Avengers compound and stayed despite Tony’s wariness and avoidance of him precisely because he believed in their family? He believed that they could fix what was broken, that they could be how they used to be if not better?

“I’m gonna ask again, Zemo. If only in the interest of trying to help someone else who’s had his life stolen from him… Look man, I can’t help your family. It was _my_ fault that all those people died, but no matter how much I want to take it all back, I can’t. I thought I was doing the world a favor by using what resources I have— _what wits I have_ —to try to protect it, but I was wrong. And people paid the price with their lives,” Tony stated, voice unusually even despite the heaviness of the message he was trying to convey. “But I have a chance now to make it right by someone by giving him his life back. Just tell us where the notebook is.”

Steve, realizing the import of Tony’s words, wanted to smile despite himself. While a lot of things _have_ changed, _one thing_ has not: Tony, deep down, behind that near permanent mask of cageyness, was still Tony—the Tony that never ceased to amaze and surprise, the Tony that was still secretly kind and compassionate, the Tony that had not lost the hope he had initially pinned on his family.

Zemo bared his teeth in a twisted imitation of a smile. A light sheen of sweat decorated his face. “Like I told you, Stark. I don’t have the notebook because I destroyed it. You can keep electrocuting me; you can even kill me if you want, but I’ve nothing for you. It would seem that there’s no redemption for you in this life after all. Perhaps in the next one?”

Steve watched Tony enclose his hands into fists by his sides. He was shaking slightly—because of pent-up rage or frustration, Steve didn’t want to ask. “It’s alright, Tony. We should just go,” Steve said, squeezing the genius-billionaire’s forearm before finally letting go of it.

They kept silent as they made their way from the subterranean holding area back to the surface. Steve wanted to say something because he felt like he should try to calm the inner storms he could feel were raging in Tony.

If it were solely up to him, Steve didn’t want to have to lay eyes on or confront Zemo again just to be reminded of the Sokovian’s desire for vengeance that spawned the trap Steve and his friends had so calmly walked into, but Tony must have had his reasons for searching Zemo out. “What do we need the notebook for?” He had to ask; he couldn’t hold in the curiosity anymore.

“Like I said, the BARF alone is not gonna cut it. If we want to rid Barnes of HYDRA’s programming, the way to go about it is to find out how HYDRA had conditioned him into becoming The Winter Soldier to begin with,” explained Tony while they made their way back to the car that took them there. “And for that, I needed Zemo because he was the last one to have successfully activated The Winter Soldier in Berlin, and there must be some sort of _record_ of the programming that Zemo, _an outsider_ , used to activate Barnes, which before then was something only HYDRA could do. After he was taken in, I spent an inordinate amount of time looking into everything I could find about him—how he could’ve done what he had done; I retraced his steps. I discovered the Winter Soldier notebook—the record of how HYDRA was able to create their brainwashed mercenary,” shared Tony.

“And I realized that if we want to rid Barnes of any remnants of HYDRA’s control, we need that notebook and see just how he was created so we can undo it,” concluded Tony with his usual conviction. “I’m going to reverse engineer The Winter Soldier,” Tony declared with a quirk of one corner of his lips.

But before Steve could open his mouth to reply, react or comment, Wanda Maximoff dropped from the skies right in front of their car in a trail of grace and scarlet energy, giving Tony a meaningful look that was difficult to read.

“I had a feeling the bastard was lying. Let Cap know what you found out and go with him to retrieve it,” Tony said, nodding once at Wanda before looking towards the nearby horizon at a closely hovering quinjet.

“What—“

He turned to Steve, stone-faced and distant before pulling the door to the car open and sliding into the driver’s seat again. “You gotta always have a contingency plan, Cap,” Tony called above the din of the buffeting wind from the thrusters of the hovering quinjet before pulling the car door closed, bringing the car engine to life and speeding away.


	6. 06. TONY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A BARF beta test shows Tony a cryptic memory. He happens upon Barnes in the kitchen in the wee hours of the morning again, and clearly they gotta stop meeting like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next installment, y'all!
> 
> OK, I have a request. I want to be evenhanded to Tony and Steve when it comes to the issue of the meat of their conflict (The Sokovia Accords). I don't want to make it like Steve was completely in the wrong and it was Tony who deserved all the sympathy, no. They're BOTH in the wrong. They both have their own motivations. If you're not getting that feel from the characterization in this story, would you PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE let me know so I can make adjustments, tweaks and what-not?
> 
> Having said that, let me know of any issues--typos, inconsistencies, etc. so I can fix 'em. I would love to know your thoughts and get your Kudos so I know that I'm not completely fucking this up. We all need catharsis after all.
> 
> Memory in _italics_. You'll know what I'm talkin' about soon enough. ENJOY!!!  
>  \---

“BARF Beta Test 14 commencing in 30 seconds, FRIDAY,” Tony declared to a workshop that was otherwise devoid of conventional life, save for his loyal bots, his AI and the ever-whirring machinery that was about as close to a life form as there would be in Tony Stark’s turf.

He strutted to the very heart of the space, clad in lounge pants and a black tank top, which were about as far away from personal protective equipment as they go. He was even _barefoot_ , which, if Bruce were around, would have had him clutching at his chest, aghast at Tony’s unapologetic disregard for safety protocols.

Tony slipped on the temple tips that were supposed to go behind the shell of the ears to anchor the BARF nodes to rest snugly behind the ear lobes and on top of the temporo mandibular joint. This placement ensured the best results in terms of the BARF tapping into the hippocampus with least intrusion into the higher brain functions and least impediment by the skull. Temple arms with state-of-the-art holograph projection capabilities extended from the tips to run along the side of the face, ending against both temples. These would give three-dimensional form to the memories of the subject which would then be thrown towards the makeshift blue panels he had erected to form three sides to an incomplete quadrilateral. To give the subject and any observers the full, immersive BARF experience—take them right where the action was.

The current schematics of the BARF had seen a drastic upgrade from the thick-framed glasses design that it used to be when he had first demonstrated it in MIT. He wanted it sleeker and more compact, and he guessed he owed it to Barnes that the invention saw some revolution and redesign. He never would have really given the BARF a second look until he had realized that Barnes could really use it to process his own trauma from having been an instrument for HYDRA’s villainy.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply to try to calm himself for another BARF test run. He didn’t know why he even bothered when every run always left him shaken to the core and almost convinced that he had gone back in time to live through his traumatic experiences anew.

Turning momentarily back towards the cluttered table where most of his hand tools and various detritus were, Tony could vaguely make out the stark red notebook with a five-pointed star on its face: the Winter Soldier notebook, which Rogers and Wanda retrieved from where Zemo had hidden it in the Records room of HYDRA’s Siberian facility. Tony had only gotten to only about a third of the notebook before he decided that the BARF needed another test run to make sure that it was impeccably working before Barnes gave it a try.

One of the reasons that Tony needed a break from the Winter Soldier manual was the notebook account’s sheer barbarity. Tony didn’t think it was possible for humans to do something like that to their fellow humans, but there it was in black and white. Tony couldn’t help but feel both pity and admiration for Barnes. That he had endured as he did despite the massive cruelty he had suffered through.

Reading the Winter Soldier notebook made Tony want to break HYDRA’s programming now more than ever. Because he didn’t think anybody deserved what Barnes had gone through, and was still going through presumably every time he closed his eyes. Tony also wanted the BARF to work now more than ever. The BARF together with the information contained in the notebook was going to free Barnes from HYDRA’s clutches once and for all.

He told himself that he was going to wade deeper into the notebook just as soon as he clocked in another BARF test run. The process of zeroing in on a particular memory for alteration still needed some work; in Tony’s opinion it was still too nauseating. He was afraid Barnes was going to feel too overwhelmed with the onslaught of bad memories that he might pass out before he could zero in on a particular memory, and that would defeat the purpose, really. So, Tony’s purpose for that—the 14th test run—was to fine-tune the process of immersing into a BARF memory.

Steeling himself for another barrage of his own traumatic memories, Tony breathed deeply again while FRIDAY counted down into activation.

This time, he was somewhat more ready than he had been the previous times. He was ready to see the Afghan cave where he had been incarcerated for three months; to stare into the dark eyes of the terrorists who had water boarded him into agreeing to make a Jericho missile for them; to stand by Yinsen as the man who had saved Tony’s life lay dying; to fly into the dark hole in the sky and see a great alien mother ship; to watch Pepper plunge to what Tony had thought was a fiery death; to gaze at the dead bodies of the Avengers as his beloved planet was overrun by alien invaders; to gape as Sokovia was sent aloft only to plummet later on in a rain of stone, machinery, lightning and people they had failed to save; to fail to save Rhodey before he plunged towards the ground in a dead War Machine suit; to find out how his mother was killed and who had killed her; to face two super soldiers as they volleyed the famed shield between the two of them and hit Tony one after the other; to stare into Steve’s resolute eyes as the latter brought the vibranium shield to bear down on Tony’s chest reactor…

He knew that compared to the horrors that Barnes had had to live through, his own trauma was child’s play. But Tony still felt them tear through his strength of mind like it was nothing but tissue paper. Yes, this part was sure to do Barnes in, alright. Unless Tony could lessen the turnaround time and make the device focus on a particular memory immediately.

Tony did not realize that he had fallen to his knees. He was on the brink of yanking off the BARF nodes when the onslaught of memories slowed to a trickle until it fixed on one:

It was in a room—a regular one, with personalized picture frames, throws and pillows. Only that it was meant to look like a hospital room with an IV pole and a portable life support system that looked horribly out of place; it was daytime, and the vista outside the window showed the Manhattan skyline in early spring. There were two people in the room: one was lying on the bed, holding on to the other, seated by the bed with the most heartbreaking expression on his otherwise handsome face.

Nothing about the moment seemed particularly traumatizing. But he knew better than to underestimate the power of an otherwise ordinary scene to mold or unmake a person’s entire outlook.

The one prostrate on the bed was Tony and the one he was holding on to was Steve.

It was supposed to be a _memory_. Only it was of an occasion that Tony was pretty sure had _never_ happened before. Because there was absolutely no way in the world that Steve would look at him and hold on to him that way. Like he was going to die the moment he let go of Tony.

_“What can I say to change your mind?” Steve murmured against the back of Tony’s hand that he was clutching within his own._

_“Steve… We talked about this already,” Tony said, mildly disapproving. He shifted on the bed to turn his head towards the blonde by his side. “Don’t you want him back?”_

_“But he_ is _you, and you are him,” insisted Steve, his voice muffled by the fact that he still had his lips pressed against the back of Tony’s hand. “What if you’re here because you’re meant to stay here?”_

_“We don’t know that,” Tony answered softly so as to keep his voice from breaking. “I have to go back and fix things. Because we can’t keep being at odds with each other. Not when I know how much more we can accomplish by working together.” It was Tony’s turn to take Steve’s hand and kiss the back of it. Then, shifting where he lay, he turned to the ceiling. “On my go-signal, J, inject my IV with the substance, all right?”_

“As you wish, Sir. Have a safe journey,” _the dulcet and sophisticated tones of JARVIS filled the room._

_“Keep talking to me as I fall asleep, Steve,” requested Tony as he signaled to JARVIS, feeling fingers of fear grip his heart for the first time since he resolved to do something to be able to get back. “Tell me about our last time in The Villa; tell me about Rebecca. Just…keep talking to me…”_

_And Steve did, although his usual baritone became shakier as he talked like Tony had asked him to. And all the while, Tony’s breathing became even and his eyelids steadily drooped even while he fought to fend off sleep._

_“I…I lo—I love…” Tony murmured, his grip on Steve’s hand becoming slack._

_“Tony… Tony…”_

_“Yes?” He couldn’t fall asleep yet. He needed one last look at the man he was leaving behind. At the man he was returning to…_

_“Always remember that in this universe and in all the universes there are, we are meant to be together. I love you, Shellhead…”_

The last thing Tony was aware of was memory-Steve kissing memory-Tony’s forehead and then pressing tear-stained cheeks on it before Tony was viciously pulling the BARF nodes off his head in a wild panic. He was shaking like a leaf, folded in on himself on the cold hard floor of his workshop. The pseudo-memory left him reeling more than his other traumatic experiences that the BARF had shown him in 3D glory in past test runs ever did.

What was that? How could the BARF have picked that up when Tony would swear left, right and center that nothing of the sort had ever happened to him and Steve in the past. Nor was there any chance of that, or anything similar to that, happening in the future.

The Steve Rogers he knew was crazy in love with Bucky Barnes.

But, clearly, in that scene, it was _Tony_ Steve had been in love with. And Steve didn’t want him to leave, but Tony insisted.

The faux memory—because, of course, it must be fake or something—didn’t only leave Tony reeling and shaken, it also left him confused and with more questions now than before the scene played out before him. He didn’t even get a hold of himself long enough to try to change the pseudo-memory as the BARF really was built for.

His stomach roiled in his gut, threatening to dump bile on the floor of the workshop made pristine by DUM-E’s incessant polishing. There was nothing else but bile to dump because he hadn’t eaten in a while, the last time being 32 hours ago—a meal of two packages of Twinkies and strong coffee.

Clearly, he needed comfort food again. So, swallowing the threat of his guts’ rebellion, Tony half-crawled, half-hobbled to the low shelf where he was keeping his veritable stash of Twinkies, Dingdongs, soda, coffee grounds and heavily-caffeinated tea bags and hurriedly threw its door open.

“Fry, where are my Twinkies?” Tony asked in a panic, sorting through empty boxes and spent wrappings of his comfort food. He needed some comfort food right fucking now, both to pick himself up and flood his system with sugar to get his brain cells jump-started into making a semblance of sense out of the BARF memory he was recently shown.

“ _You ate the last of your stash 32 hours ago, Sir_ ,” FRIDAY informed him like she would a confused second grader.

“What? I couldn’t have eaten everything already. I got more than enough shit to last me a week on my last snack run,” complained Tony, still pawing through the trash in his snack stash and hoping to unearth even one moldy Dingdong just to tide him over. “Don’t tell me U has been disposing of my junk food a little bit at a time again to try to get me to eat healthy!” He straightened up with a right mind to hunt his ‘bots down and stare them down for messing with his stockpile of junk food.

“ _Your stash couldn’t have lasted a week, no—not if they were the only things you were eating,_ ” FRIDAY said, and Tony could hear the judgment writ clear in her voice as well.

“They aren’t the _only_ things I’m eating,” denied Tony with petulance. “I ate _pasta_ and—and lemon chicken last—that was—when was that—?”

“ _Lunch on Easter Sunday. That was_ five _days ago, Sir._ ”

“So I was busy. So I’ve had to subsist on a diet of Twinkies, coffee and good humor. You can’t put genius on hold just for something as plebian as eating!” Tony humored his AI, palming his face to distract himself from the junk food he _wasn’t_ eating to ease the panic of having seen a memory of something that _never_ happened. “Roll call, Fry. Who’s up?”

He looked forward to hearing that the kitchen was blissfully empty so he could make another snack stockpile run, unmolested.

“ _Doctor Strange is out. Colonel Rhodes, Ms. Maximoff, Ms. Romanoff, Mr. Wilson, Mr. Lang and Captain Rogers are all in their respective rooms, asleep. Mr. Parker has fallen asleep in the library while researching for a school paper due soon. Vision is on-duty in the Command Center as usual. Sergeant Barnes is in the kitchen, drinking tea,_ ” enumerated FRIDAY.

“Goddammit—doesn’t that man ever sleep?” Tony asked, displeased.

“ _Rarely, Sir, and only during daytime._ ”

“We ought to make the most of it and have him relieve Vision on Command Center graveyard duty since he’s not sleeping anyway,” spat Tony, dismayed that he wasn’t going to get his junk food fix lest he wanted another happy, happy chat with Amnesiac Robocop. “Alert me once he’s left the kitchen, FRIDAY, so I can make my snack run. I wasn’t kidding when I said I need them Twinkies.

“Oh I’m giving the BARF back to your capable hands for readjustment of the initiation sequence. I still think it’s too damn slow to latch on to a particular memory. On that note, scrub Beta Test 14. I want you to erase any and all records of it, and look into the coding of segment 4041965 for a glitch. The BARF is not supposed to tap into wishful thinking, delusions, hallucinations or _any_ other brain function apart from memory,” rattled Tony off in his usual hyper-verbal manner, still mildly put out that he wasn’t eating a Twinkie as a pick-me-up right then.

“ _Initial analysis shows no discernible glitch in said segment, Sir. Conducting more thorough code checking and comparison with past beta tests for a similar case,_ ” FRIDAY confirmed.

After a frenzied half an hour spent trawling through segment after segment of codes for the glitch that Tony alerted FRIDAY about, the brunette looked up from his holo-keyboard with furrowed brows and asked irritably, “what time is it? Is Barnes still in the kitchen, Fry? I’m hungry, like, for real…” 

“ _The time is 3:05 in the morning. Sergeant Barnes is still in the kitchen, Sir. He usually stays in the kitchen until Captain Rogers arrives after his morning run and starts preparing breakfast._ ”

Tony groaned. “You’re _kidding_ , right?” But of course, that was just rhetorical. “Give me a fucking break,” sullenly muttered the genius-billionaire. He was becoming inundated of late with all his forced and unintended encounters with the Wonder Twins as Tony not-so-fondly began to refer to the super soldier pair, that he was seriously rethinking his magnanimity to put Barnes to rights.

He didn’t know what was worse: dealing with a morose and amnesiac Barnes and censoring himself on what to say to ensure that he wouldn’t inadvertently trigger some kind of episode or disclose information that the man was supposed to come upon by himself; or dealing with a guilt-ridden and eager-to-make-things-right Rogers and feeling pressured to make some attempt to reach out, himself, despite being cautious and confused.

And now he had a quandary: if he wanted his Twinkie fix sated in the next couple of hours, who was he more prepared to deal with: Barnes or Rogers?

However, given the very disturbing memory/not-memory he was just shown, the decision came easy. “Barnes it is,” said Tony with resignation, getting the sackcloth bag from the top of the snack supply cabinet to fill with his junk food choices. “Keep looking at that segment of code alright, sweetheart? I’ll be back in a jiff.”

-0-0-0-

Of course, there was no use sneaking up on Barnes even if the super soldier looked to be in a trance while nursing a cup of tea that didn’t seem like it had even been touched at all. The moment that Tony set foot in the kitchen, Barnes’ eyes were onto him like a parched horse to water—silently watchful, but _watchful_ , nevertheless.

“This is _unhealthy_ , you know,” Tony began, voicing unwelcome observations regarding Barnes’ apparent preference for sitting in the kitchen all creepy like instead of sleeping like a normal human being.

“ _You_ would know,” was the curt reply. There was a period of silence as Tony walked around the kitchen, yanking overhead cabinet doors open and retrieving Twinkies, Pop tarts and Dingdongs boxes, large bags of potato chips, corn chips and flavored pretzels while he could sense Barnes’ eyes closely following his every move.

“You do know that eating that kind of food is unhealthy, too, right?” Barnes followed-up, giving Tony a taste of his own medicine regarding dishing out unsolicited opinions.

“This is not the only thing I eat,” defended Tony. That was truth as well. He did have pasta five days ago; that had to count for something.

Barnes looked like he believed jack shit of what Tony’d just said, too.

Tony contended himself with getting more supplies for his snack stash. This suited him just fine, Barnes’ silence. He commended himself for the right decision to make a snack run now rather than later.

“You don’t eat; you don’t sleep—Christ almighty—what _do_ you do all day, Stark?” Barnes piped up again. This time Tony could hear the unspoken judgment in the statement. Must be the religious reference that threw him off.

“You’re one to talk, pal,” Tony bit back. “You can’t even _drink tea_ properly.” He wrinkled his nose at the untouched cup of cold tea in front of Barnes. He knew he sounded childish, but really, what right did this upstart have anyway, with his disapproving statements and judgey tone?! Tony was getting enough of this from the rest of the team, thank you, and he didn’t even hang out with them all that much! He certainly needed none of this from _Barnes_! “And _you_ don’t sleep either—I know ‘cause FRIDAY tells me everything.”

“I don’t like what happens when I do sleep,” came the amnesiac’s quiet admission. And Tony suddenly felt guilty for trying to pick a fight with him. He’d had a fair few traumatic experiences in his life and they'd done a number on his sleeping habits, too. He could hardly imagine what Barnes must grapple with in his sleep.

“Well—you’re going to have to get _some_ sleep _sometime_. You need to be rested and ready for the device I told you I was developing, and it’s nearly ready,” Tony informed him, shouldering the heavy bag of goodies and intending to make a quick getaway from the kitchen.

“I’ve been having these nightmares…”

Damn. The bag was too heavy and it had slowed him down enough in time to catch Barnes’ confession. He should really just leave; he couldn’t care less if Barnes was seeing the Second Coming in his sleep or something. Tony had his own issues that he could barely handle himself; he didn’t need to be privy to someone else’s. Most especially if that someone else was Bucky Barnes.

His feet refused to move, though. Something in him commiserated with the former soldier and thought that this was not supposed to be carelessly disregarded in the usual Tony Stark fashion. But while he was frozen on the spot, his mind couldn’t come up with a single, bloody thing to say in response to what Barnes just told him.

Maybe Tony was better off dealing with Steve Rogers after all…

“Tell your doctors,” suggested Tony, peeved. Really, did he have to do everything around here? “Tell _Steve_.”

“I’m telling you.”

Shit. “I can’t help you. I’m not a dream interpreter or a psychiatrist. I’m an _engineer_. Technology and machines, I can understand but this… I’m as useless as the next guy.” Hell, most of the time, he needed a psychiatrist himself! What did he know? He was probably going to do more harm than good if he tried to give Barnes any sort of advice.

“You’re not useless. You’ve created a device that would help me get better up here,” said Barnes, tapping his remaining hand against his temple. “You’re helping me. Just as you helped Jim.”

Tony didn’t know how to react to that.

“I just wish I know why you’re helping me or if I’m even the kind of person who deserves your help,” lamented Barnes anew with a sad smile.

“You’ll know soon enough,” reassured Tony. “That’s why you need to be ready.” Hiking the snack bag higher up his shoulder, he made to leave again and get to the comfort and simplicity of his life in the workshop.

But before he could scram like the devil himself was on his heels, Barnes spoke up again. Damn if the man didn’t know when to fucking quit!

“I had a dream that I used to have a cybernetic arm. Is that real?”

Tony sighed. “Yes.” Where was fucking Rogers when you needed him? He should be the one holding Barnes’ hand through all this and not Tony! Tony didn’t think there were enough Twinkies in the whole compound to make him grit his teeth and suffer through playing nurse-therapist to the amnesiac.

“You said you’re an engineer, and that you know machines…”

“I did, yes.” What was the point? Barnes must have a point to all this. Tony wanted to hiss his impatience and spur Barnes along to get to the fucking point already because his arm holding the bag of precious Twinkies and various junk food was getting numb.

“Think you can make me a new arm?”

Tony gaped.

He was confused for a while. Has Christmas come early this year? Was Barnes giving him a new project to obsess over? And then something else niggled at the back of Tony’s mind at the thought of creating a new cybernetic arm from scratch for the former HYDRA asset. He couldn’t tell what it was. Excitement? Déjà vu?

Tony looked at the expression on Barnes’ face—beseeching without being overtly desperate. What _was_ it about being asked to make a new arm for Barnes? It was like a splinter to Tony’s mind now.

Since he wasn’t saying anything, Barnes spoke again, “I just miss doing things with two arms and two hands, I guess. This whole one-armed gig is kind of throwing my balance off. So…you know, if you could help a man out, Stark, I’d really appreciate it.”

Tony pursed his lips in serious consideration. He could, of course, tell Barnes to take a long walk off a short pier, get lost, fuck off, take a hike or keep dreaming. He didn’t owe the super soldier anything. In fact, it was the other way around. Barnes owed him for what happened to Tony’s parents.

But the look on the former Sergeant’s face was so hopefully earnest, that Tony couldn’t bear to dash the other man’s hopes. While it was true that he didn’t owe Barnes anything, Tony remembered the speech he had given to Rogers when he had first told the Captain about his decision to help Barnes: he had to help because he could.

Plus, he had the benefit of having been categorically asked by Barnes for help, so…

“I’ll—uh—I’ll give it a think,” Tony said cryptically, before turning on his heel and finally making good on his escape.

Barnes could wait for Tony’s decision after he’s had a box or two of Twinkies, and maybe some soda and coffee—lots and _lots_ of coffee. Because after the couple of hours he’s had, Tony couldn’t even begin to describe how much he needed sugar and good vibes in his system right now.


	7. 07. BUCKY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky remembers what went down in Siberia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update!!!! Yipeee! And it's another three-day weekend here in my country because of the Feast of Sacrifice celebrated by our Muslim brethren.
> 
> Anyway, pretty short chapter right here, not as eventful as I would like, but very pivotal to how the rest of the plot unfolds especially to our three protagonists.
> 
> Thanks to the usual commenters of this piece; you, guys, make my creative muses sing. You know who you are and, since I like getting nice, long insightful comments, keep 'em coming! I adore you!
> 
> Let me know of any clunky phrasing, inconsistencies, typos or any issues that you spot, please, so I can fix them.
> 
> Enjoy, y'all and see you next week (hopefully) for the next update!  
> \---

 

Bucky was still pondering the mystery that was Tony Stark and the engineer’s reclusive and devil-may-care attitude when his deep musings were interrupted by Steve sauntering into the kitchen in his running clothes. Bucky was quick to school his features into a neutral expression instead of the haunted look he feared was becoming a near permanent fixture on his face.

Judging by Steve’s furrowed brows, however, he had caught Bucky’s troubled face and was, himself, concerned. “Hey Buck,” Steve still greeted, walking towards the fridge and retrieving a plastic bottle of water which he thirstily downed.

“Hey Steve. Good morning.” Bucky congratulated himself inwardly for managing an almost enthusiastic greeting. To think, he had not even realized that it _was_ already morning.

He hoped it fooled Steve just a little bit into thinking that he was perfectly fine.

He really wasn’t.

For one thing, he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since moving into the residential building of the compound. He slept fitfully in the late mornings, after breakfast, and only for a couple of restless hours. After which, he always woke up abruptly, plagued by a nightmare or other about war, explosions, dead people—or more particularly, killing people dead. And he could remember their faces, too. Each one of them. Yet none of them were in the least bit familiar to him.

But Bucky didn’t want Steve to know any of that. Not the not sleeping bit or the dreaming about having killed people bit. Bucky didn’t know if it was shame or annoyance that was the reason that he didn’t want Steve to know. What he knew, though, was that something didn’t add up here. The way Steve looked at and dealt with him always made Bucky feel like he must have been a good person because Steve, kind and honorable as he was, wouldn’t be his friend if he weren’t. But Bucky’s dreams were telling him otherwise—how could a ruthless, efficient killer be a good person?

The one-armed amnesiac just didn’t want to, yet again, be on the receiving end of any more worried gazes from Steve, so he had decided to keep his trap shut about his woes.

Then, he completely blew that decision all to hell when he told _Tony Stark_ that he’d been having nightmares. In his defense, he didn’t know what came over him. It was just that there was something about Stark’s indifference that soothed him. Stark couldn’t care less if Bucky was a war hero or a bloody assassin or a nobody, really. For all Bucky knew, he was nothing but a guinea pig to test Stark’s cutting edge technology on.

And, surprisingly, that didn’t bother Bucky at all. It soothed him that he could be _anything_ when he was around Stark. He didn’t have to mind whether or not he disappointed Stark. Because Stark simply didn’t care.

“Are…you OK, Buck?”

He restrained himself from snorting. No, he really wasn’t. But what came out of his mouth was, “yeah…why?” Bucky even grabbed his stale cup of tea from the table and took a swig of it for added effect. The tea was stone-cold, and he had to fight the urge to gag.

“Have you been sleeping?”

Bucky guessed that some signs of fatigue must be showing on his face and deportment for Steve to keep poking at the issue. If _haunted_ was the near permanent expression on Bucky’s face, then _worry_ was Steve’s.

“Yeah…just—not at night,” answered Bucky with a shrug. He wanted to go for casual, thinking he may have overshot it a smidge. “It’s just…”

Why was it so hard to tell Steve when it had been such a breeze to tell Stark? He knew that Steve would try his hardest to help him—accompany him to talk to his doctors about it, try to think of activities to distract him from the sleep he wasn’t getting, remind him that everyone has their own skeletons in the closet and all the while reassuring him that he was a good person, be sympathetic, at the very least.

“Have you been having nightmares?” Steve tentatively asked. Bucky didn’t know if it was a testament to Steve’s intuition for guessing his woes correctly, of if Bucky was just that damn obvious about it. He reckoned he looked about the same as death warmed over or something.

“Nightmares, visions, recollections—whatever they are; what difference does it make?” Bucky asked, shuddering inwardly. “I just don’t like sleeping.”

“If you’re having nightmares, maybe you need someone to keep an eye on you in your room or something?” Steve suggested, stopping any initial preparations for breakfast that he was doing to give his undivided attention to Bucky.

Bucky snorted, unequivocally expressing his distaste. “I’m not a _child_ , Steve. I don’t need constant supervision,” he practically spat. He was feeling helpless, but he didn’t think having someone in the room to watch him while he slept was going to do jack. If his past response of wild-eyed panic and near violence these past couple of days whenever he woke up after a vicious nightmare were anything to go by, it was even more dangerous if he had anyone in the room with him. The last thing he needed was to hurt someone in some kind of post-nightmare fit when there was a thin line between dreaming and reality.

“If you need to talk to your doctors, I can go with you,” Steve offered, adding, “if you want.” Because he was nice like that, and he probably didn’t want Bucky to feel like he was being coddled because it was such a debilitating infirmity to be without one’s past.

“Maybe they can prescribe something or tell you techniques to be able to get some sleep,” continued Steve. He went on preparing his ingredients and implements for that morning’s meal, keeping his hands busy.

“I don’t know. I feel like I’ve slept enough anyway. And I don’t seem to need sleep all that much. I mean, I don’t get headaches or nausea,” replied Bucky, shrugging. It was the truth, too. He wasn’t just saying that to get Steve off his case. He didn’t feel like he was missing out on much, not getting enough sleep. Maybe he wasn’t normal. Maybe he was also Enhanced like Steve and the other Avengers…

“Even so,” reasoned Steve. “Just because you don’t feel like you need it, doesn’t mean you really don’t. You don’t want to kill any more of your brain cells or cause your brain chemistry to go haywire because of lack of sleep when you’re still recovering,” the blonde needled him, gently. “Just—just try, OK?”

Breathing a resigned sigh, Bucky nodded. “OK, Steve.” It was also the same advice from Stark, so it couldn’t possibly be completely misguided. He didn’t want Steve to worry or Tony to give him any more annoyed eye rolls. He would just have to grit his teeth and face those harrowing visions of his. Maybe if he confronted them head-on and dealt with them as one would a Band-Aid by pulling it sharply, he could start the long road to healing his mind.

And find out once and for all what kind of a person he was and if he was worth saving.

-0-0-0-

Four nights into his resolution to try to get some sleep like a normal human being, Bucky was having another one of what he was beginning to think of as his sneak peeks into his murky past.

Metal was bone-cold against his flesh fingers as he climbed higher up a silo-like structure, leaping or swinging from one metal grate platform to another that peppered the shaft. It was some sort of a ventilation shaft as he came to realize. Tufts of vapor formed every time he breathed as he climbed higher and higher. He didn’t dare look below him to see if whoever was after him was still hot on his heels.

The gray horizon of the snowy tundra that was Siberia was within his field of vision when the hydraulic mechanism holding the shaft hatch open was blown into fiery smithereens. He shrieked in both terror and disbelief as the hatch door fell closed towards him, cutting what would have been his only escape. He fell back into the bowels of the shaft until a platform caught him flat on his back.

A man-sized robot flew towards him and, seizing a long pipe from the floor of the platform, he swung it towards the robot with fierce bright blue eyes but missed. The robot grasped him from the back by his throat with unyielding metal arms and started choking him.

_“Do you even remember them?”_

The robot hissed, unfeelingly, against the side of his head. Rage was unmistakable in that voice. A voice that was eerily familiar. Like Bucky had heard it from a faraway dream.

_“I remember all of them.”_

What was he supposed to remember? How come he couldn’t remember now? All of what? All of whom? Would he even want to remember them? Would he even want to remember the person he used to be?

Steve was there. He had tackled them as the robot dragged Bucky deeper into the bowels of the ventilation shaft, still in his red and gold clutches. And they were falling, somersaulting in the void until Bucky’s side hit another metal grate, the clanging of his cybernetic arm reverberating throughout, and the other two careered past where he had fallen.

Bucky watched them face off each other: the man in blue and red with a silver star on his chest like a beacon, and the man with fiercely glowing blue eyes and heart in a red and gold metal suit.

_“This isn't going to change what happened.”_

_“I don’t care. He killed my mom.”_

They were at each other, trading unapologetic blows. It wasn’t clear to him what the two equally matched titans were fighting about or over. Only that he needed to help Steve. Steve was his friend. And the red and gold metal monster was their enemy.

Bucky came at the robot with a round metal shield that could only be Steve’s at the back, knocking him away from Bucky’s prostrate friend. The metal man was a fearsome warrior, not backing down even if there was already two of them, volleying the round shield between them. When the robot was able to hit Steve with a beam from its palm, Bucky grappled with it alone, hitting with both his flesh and metal hand. Another beam exploded from the armor’s left palm, which Bucky deflected towards the ceiling. With a powerful punch to the chest using his cybernetic arm, Bucky was able to slam the robot against the wall farthest from Steve. With Bucky’s flesh hand against the creatures face, and his robotic arm clutching at its glowing heart, Bucky wanted to put a stop to the robot’s attacks once and for all.

But the creature’s heart exploded in another concentrated beam, blowing Bucky’s arm clear off into nothing but a blackened stump of sparking wires and metal. The armored adversary did him the self-same courtesy of hitting him with the beam of force from the back until he was prone on the floor.

Pain. He didn’t expect there to be. But there was. For such an abomination that wasn’t a real part of his body, there was blinding pain as he slipped in and out of lucid thought.

Why did the man in the red and gold armor hate them so?

No. Not _them_. _Him._ The man in the red and gold metal suit hated him, Bucky. Because Bucky killed his mother. Because Bucky was a remorseless murderer _._

And Steve just happened to be caught in the cross-fire, defending him.

Steve was the only one who believed him to be a good person, and Steve never tired of convincing him that he was. Even in the face of someone Bucky had orphaned, Steve still took his side.

 _"He’s my friend.”_ Steve was kneeling between him and the armored warrior.

_“So was I.”_

Steve was thrown off clear across from Bucky. _“Stay down. Final Warning.”_

 _“I can do this all day.”_ Before the man in the armor could deal what Bucky thought was a killing blow towards a barely standing Steve, Bucky distracted him by throwing himself against the robot’s foot. This gave Steve enough time to grapple with the armor, lifting it up and slamming it against the foot of a pylon. Steve hit it several times more, both with his hands and with the shield until the helmet gave way.

It was Tony Stark in the armor. Wild-eyed and bleeding.

Steve raised his shield in preparation to bear it down upon the man beneath him, and Tony raised his arms to shield his head. The remaining armor gauntlet that was still functioning lighted up ever so slightly.

“No!” Bucky reached his flesh hand out to stop the scene before him from ending in death. And he bolted upright from his bed, nearly cricking his back and breathing like he had been running for hours. He was drenched in sweat but there was cold from deep within his bones.

“ _Are you quite all right, Mr. Barnes?_ ” FRIDAY inquired as unobtrusively as her programming allowed. “ _Do you need me to alert Captain Rogers?_ ”

He was 100% certain that what he had just seen was a memory of something that happened. Something that happened fairly recently. He could still feel that beam of light go clear through his metal arm, blowing it sky high. At least, one of his incessant questions had now been answered. That was how he’d lost the cybernetic arm.

Tony Stark in a metal suit had fought him and blown his robotic arm off. Because Bucky killed his mother. And Stark was so filled with rage, he had no compunction about killing him and Steve who had stood between them. Even if Steve was Stark’s friend just as much as he was Bucky’s.

“N—no, no FRIDAY. There’s no need to wake Steve up for this. I’ll be OK. It was just a nightmare,” Bucky murmured while palming his face into full wakefulness. There was something sinister scratching at the back of his mind, scrabbling to get a hold of him. It was like he was floating, half-surrendering to whatever it was that was bubbling just below the surface of his consciousness.

He ducked his head between his knees as he sat, trembling, on the bed. He fought off the ominous whisperings until he could hear the pounding of his heart in his ears. Bucky realized that he needed a new way to calm his inner storms that was more effective than having the blood rush too fast to his brain.

He wanted to remember. He wanted to picture it in his mind’s eye: Stark’s mother— _killing_ Stark’s mother. Did he use a gun? Did he stab her? Strangle her? But he drew a blank. While he might have remembered once upon that confrontation in the ventilation shaft in the middle of a snowy nowhere, he couldn’t remember it now.

Though without any memory, he was certain that he was responsible. The rage in Stark’s calm question was undeniable. There didn’t seem to be any doubt in him that Bucky was the culprit.

_“Do you even remember them?”_

_Them_. Maybe Bucky wasn’t responsible _only_ for Stark’s mother’s death…

How was it that he knew who Stark was when he woke up? Was that because deep in Bucky’s messed up psyche he knew about his hand in the murder of Stark’s mother? There was something about the engineer that was familiar to him. More familiar than just any one physical confrontation could have impressed upon him. Did Stark look like his mother perhaps?

“FRIDAY? Can you help me?”

“ _Of course, Mr. Barnes._ ”

“Does…does Stark look like his mother?”

“ _Well, using the basic principles of a facial recognition software and comparing Mistress Maria Stark’s features to Sir—_ “

“—can you just show me a picture of his mother? Please.”

FRIDAY flashed a black-tie, formal family portrait before Bucky. It was a family picture of the Starks. Stark, with a shit-eating grin uncharacteristic of these formal family portraits, stood gawkily to the left of a conventionally beautiful blonde woman, who was seated on an ornate wooden armchair with her ankles crossed and her slim legs made more stunning by a sleek red dress. On the woman’s right, seated on the arm of the chair, wearing a suit that was his son’s match was a silver-haired gentleman.

Stark didn’t look like his mother but, save for the silver hair and the gait, was a spitting image of his father.

A marvelous headache bloomed from within Bucky’s skull, making the entire left side of his head numb.

“ _Detecting elevated blood pressure and increased brain activity,_ ” FRIDAY stated. “ _You are becoming agitated. I don’t suggest trying to force yourself to remember, Sir. Your mind can only take so much sensory inundation at any given time._ ”

Did he kill Stark’s father, too?

_“Do you even remember them?”_

If that was the case, then Stark’s efforts to help him made even less sense now than before. If Bucky had killed his parents, then why was Stark helping him? What purpose would it serve? Did Stark want Bucky to remember so he would be plagued by the memories and therein lay his ultimate revenge? That Bucky was going to be destroyed by the sheer weight of his conscience.

Bucky considered the angle that Stark was being pressured by Steve to help him. And that would also explain why Stark was aloof from the rest of his team—because he was steering clear of both Bucky and Steve. Stark was probably thinking that he was already helping Bucky; it didn’t have to mean he had to enjoy it, too. He was just doing what needed doing. End of story.

The amnesiac wanted to ask Stark about it, confront him—make him admit that he had some kind of ulterior motive for extending his aid. But a part of him was afraid to hear what Stark had to say, to hear the accusation in Stark’s voice—see it writ clear in Stark’s brown eyes. In the grand scheme of things, Stark didn’t owe Bucky shit; he didn’t have any obligation to help Bucky. Bucky killed his parents and almost killed _him_ when the amnesiac and Steve had ganged-up on him.

But after all that, Stark was still going to help Bucky.

So what if Tony just saw him as a science experiment? It wouldn’t change the end game, which was Bucky’s recovery. His recovery that would come with the help of a person he had harmed.

 _“You’re in good hands and this is not permanent. Recovery is just a matter of time. Tony, for one, is not going to stop until he has you all sorted out.”_ Jim Rhodes had reassured him about Tony’s tirelessness. Tirelessness that Bucky didn’t deserve.

There was no more possibility of sleep for him that night, none whatsoever. So, Bucky dragged himself out of bed, reassuring FRIDAY that the worst has passed, to go to his en suite bathroom to wash up and change out of his sweat-soaked clothes. After that, he hobbled out of his room to go to the kitchen to prepare and stare at his semi-regular, three in the morning cup of tea that he would nurse until Steve found him in the morning.

He damn well gave sleeping at night his best shot, but it was not to be. He kept seeing death—people begging to be spared, eyes going dead while staring at him, blood on both his flesh and metal hand. He was fucking tired—tired of thinking the worst of himself, tired of not knowing but dreading to know.

There was a part of him that thought it was unfair to these people—these people he had been dreaming about—that he couldn’t remember them. It was an affront to the lives they had lived that the one who had cut their lives short couldn’t remember them, couldn’t remember taking their lives.

Until now, though, Bucky was still of two minds about it: would it help him to know the kind of person he used to be or would he be better off not knowing?

As Bucky’s rotten luck would have it, who should he find at the kitchen at the exact same time for his also semi-regular snack run but Tony Stark himself? Like he was being taunted by the fates. Should he confront Stark about it? Should he apologize? Decline further help because he didn’t deserve Stark’s magnanimity after what he’d done?

“Oh it’s you. Again,” Stark observed with a hint of dismay. “We really gotta stop meeting _clandestinely_ like this, you know,” he said with a snort. “Has it ever occurred to you that _maybe_ …the tea-drinking is not working? Maybe you need something stronger than tea… Just—you know—something to think about…” Stark suggested with a purse of his lips before he went back to plucking boxes of his favorite snacks from the cabinets and stuffing them in his sackcloth bag.

Bucky hesitated for all of five seconds, collapsing on a stool by the kitchen’s center counter. “I killed your mother,” he said evenly. He made sure that it didn’t sound like a question.

Stark visibly recoiled, stunned.

“Did I not? I killed her. Maybe your father, too.” Bucky clenched his hand on his lap in agitation. He could neither find any more words nor raise his eyes to meet Stark’s. He just kept his eyes glued to the pattern on the counter top. 

“You did,” Stark confirmed, bag of munchies forgotten. So Bucky _was_ responsible for the elder Starks’ deaths.

Breathing a deep sigh, Bucky stated, “I remember what happened in Siberia. My arm…” It was Stark who had blown it to non-existence. “If Steve had not intervened, you would have killed me. You _wanted_ to kill me. To avenge them, to avenge your mother.”

“I did,” the engineer continued with an even, emotionless voice.

Silence.

“If you’d wanted me dead for killing your parents, then why are you helping me now?” Bucky didn’t realize how much he wanted to know the answer until the question was already out of his lips.

Silence. Maybe Stark was thinking. Maybe Stark, himself, didn’t have an answer. Just when Bucky was about to dismiss that Stark was even going to answer at all, the engineer did:

“Redemption.”

Stark was suddenly being uncharacteristically grave this morning, when Bucky needed him to be snarky, sarcastic, spiteful— _anything else_ —to divert his attention away from all the tension that was suddenly all too tangible between them.

“What if I don’t want your help? What if I don’t want to remember all the horrible things I’ve done?”

Stark shrugged, noncommittally. “You don’t want your memories back? Throw in the towel. Be content with living like an empty shell. That’s your choice—your prerogative. Who needs memories anyway, right? Who needs the past? It’s not like you can still change it,” said Stark, flippant.

“But just so we’re clear, Barnes, I’m not helping you for you. I’m helping you for _me_ , too—it’s not only your redemption that’s the end game here but also mine. Helping you recover will give me closure about my parents’ death. Just as your recovery will finally tell you what kind of person you had been. It’s true that we can’t change the past, but we can _learn_ from it.

“You dread to know what kind of horrible, _murdering_ person you had been? Ashamed of the things you got up to? But aren’t you just _the least bit curious_ —” The engineer provoked, leaning towards Bucky on the counter. “If you’re such a horrible person, why did Rogers choose your side in Siberia, and why is he keeping to your side until now?”

Looking up from the patterned counter top, Bucky finally met Stark’s wide, brown eyes through the curtain of his eyelashes. He hated it how Stark managed to hit that nail right in the head to drive it in as deep as it could go. Bucky _had_ been curious—how someone as kind and decent as Steve could be his friend. Even more so now, after tonight’s dream-slash-memory.

“Look, we’ve all done horrible things,” Tony said, shouldering his sackcloth bag of snacks anew. “But we have to live with ourselves regardless. So you killed someone— _several_ someones. You’re probably the vilest person to ever walk the earth. But wouldn’t you at least want to know _why_ —why you’ve done all those things, why you were the kind of person you were? If I were in your place, _I_ would. Because if _Rogers_ thinks you hang the fucking moon and stars enough to stand between you and a person with enough reason and ammunition to off you, then there’s gotta be something in you—no matter how small—that’s worth saving.”

Bucky was still trying to discern what it was in Stark’s tone in that last statement that he didn’t notice how the latter had gone and given him the slip. He knew he ought to be used to this by now, but this time, Bucky felt more bereft than any of the previous times in the past when Stark had just left him there, all alone with nothing but his troubled thoughts and murky memories.


	8. 08. STEVE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Steve go out on a not-date. But their night is ruined when the Winter Soldier makes a surprising appearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the two-day delay in posting the next chapter but it was a bit hectic at work last week and I had a family event last Friday so I didn't finish the chapter on time nor was I able to upload what I did finish because we were on travel and net connection was spotty. Anyway, I profusely apologize... But here it is!!! Better late than--well--later, right?
> 
> Same drill y'all! Looking forward to reading your thoughts on the story so far!
> 
> Enjoy!  
> \---

****Steve had been in the middle of some sort of baking project with Bucky after they had consulted the latter’s doctors on the problem of his difficulty in getting a good night’s sleep when he received the notice from FRIDAY about a meeting in one of the big boardrooms which he needed to go to. He had asked FRIDAY what it was all about but the AI was cryptic in her simple response that it was Tony who’d called the meeting and it had something to do with Bucky’s recovery process.

So Steve left Bucky in Sam and Scott’s capable hands and found himself in the boardroom as summoned. He entered and found Wanda, Natasha and Stephen seated around the table, speaking in hushed voices.

“Hey guys. Did Tony also ask you to be here?” Steve greeted, claiming the seat nearest the door, beside Stephen.

“Yes, FRIDAY said this has something to do with Sergeant Barnes’ recovery process. How is he doing, by the way?” Wanda, seated across from Stephen, asked. “He’s always so quiet during meals. I’d wanted to ask him how he’s doing but I didn’t want to seem presumptuous.”

“As well as could be expected. He doesn’t get much sleep,” Steve disclosed, recalling snippets of their earlier audience with Bucky’s battery of attending physicians, most of whom thought it was a normal response on Bucky’s part and it wasn’t a cause for concern yet especially since they were all privy to the fact that with traces of the Super Soldier Serum in Bucky’s system, he didn’t really need that much sleep to begin with. They had various suggestions as to Bucky’s nightmares and fleeting glimpses into his past, though.

“He doesn’t need much sleep anyway,” Natasha piped up, threading her fingers together on her abdomen.

“Well, yes, but he doesn’t know that yet. He gets nightmares. Probably about past missions. He doesn’t like talking about them much, not even to his doctors,” continued Steve.

“Maybe that’s why Anthony called us together,” Stephen contributed.

“I thought you were back in Bleecker for the next couple of days, Stephen. It’s a good thing Tony’d caught you around,” said Nat, leaning forward on her seat to engage the sorcerer in more animated conversation.

“Yes, I was planning to leave for the Sanctum early this morning, but Anthony was able to head me off, asking if I could come to this meeting.”

“Were you able to talk to Rhodey already, by any chance?”

Steve’s ears nearly prickled in interest at that, remembering the last conversation he’d had with Natasha on the matter of Rhodey’s interest to corner Stephen and ask about Tony’s suspected memory issues. But he didn’t want to appear too eager for information so he just stayed silent and let Nat take charge of the inquiry.

“I was able to, yes. I told him I was trying to recreate the spell to pinpoint where exactly Anthony was sent off to for three months, but I haven’t made much headway on that yet. And Anthony doesn’t seem to want to talk about it—not to Jim, not to me,” Stephen replied, mildly frustrated. “But don’t worry, I’ll keep looking into it. Is he getting worse?”

“I can’t be sure. I hardly see him,” grumbled Natasha, her dissatisfaction over that fact was evident. “What about you, Steve? Have you talked to Tony lately?”

Steve shook his head, dejected. The last time he had seen Tony was when they went to wrangle information from Zemo in London and that was, what, over a _week_ ago? He doubted there was anyone in the whole compound that had seen Tony since or more often than once in a fortnight. The man was _that_ elusive.

“Wanda? Any read on Tony, by any chance?”

“You’re asking _me_? He’s probably most wary of me. The last time I saw him was in London, before retrieving the Winter Soldier notebook, and he hardly talked to me then,” answered Wanda.

Before anyone else could say anything further on the subject of their mostly absentee major benefactor and teammate, the secondary door at the rear of the boardroom opened to admit one informally dressed but purposeful-looking Tony Stark. “Oh goody, you’re all here.” He went to the front of the room and folded his slight frame into the cushy chair at the head of the table, perpendicular to Steve.

“As I have already discussed with the Captain, I plan to reverse engineer the Winter Soldier to be able to ensure Barnes’ deprogramming. I needed to get a hold of the notebook devised by HYDRA exactly for that purpose, and on that matter, we were successful after Cap and Maximoff successfully retrieved the notebook from wherever the hell Zemo had stashed it in,” Tony relayed by way of a report to the rest of the people in attendance who didn’t know about the circumstances surrounding the notebook’s retrieval.

“The BARF is also ready. It’s been beta-tested sixteen times now, and it works like a dream—I mean, I built it so… _duh_ —of course it’ll work like a dream,” continued Tony, talking a mile a minute like the usual. “But I didn’t gather you all here to tell you something you already know. You are all here because I want to build a team for the purpose of rehabilitating Sergeant Barnes. And you, people, are it. Between Widow who speaks impeccable Russian, Strange who knows magic, neurosurgery and basic neuropsychology, Maximoff who’s capable of neural electric interfacing and mental manipulation and me who’s devised the BARF and who can build anything from sentient toasters to intergalactic doorways, I think we can work together to restore a former brainwashed cryo-frozen assassin to his former glory. And let’s not forget Cap who’ll be in charge of peace-keeping—keeping Barnes calm and averting any possible violent episode from escalating further, which, maybe, Widow can help you with as well. So there... Any questions?”

“Why is there even a need for a team? I mean. Bucky already has a team of doctors and medical professionals assisting in his recovery. Aren’t they enough?” Steve asked, not that he didn’t want his teammates’ help, but he was worried that it was going to make Bucky even more uncomfortable, involving more people in his recovery process.

“We’re going to be a bit more secretive at this phase of the rehabilitation. We’re anticipating violent regression episodes now that we’re dealing with actual memory recovery and Winter Soldier matters detailed in the notebook, so the least number of civilians involved, who might get hurt, the better. Also, we’re trying to keep this out of government brass’ radar—especially General Ross, so the least number of civilians involved, who are more inclined to talk to the wrong people, the better,” said Tony, intermittently meeting Steve’s eyes.

“Do we have an actual timeline for the rehab process? Some sort of plan of action?” It was Natasha’s turn to ask.

“The Sergeant has lived a long and very trying life. We can’t be certain as to how long the memory recovery and augmenting process will take. If he’s up to it, we can schedule BARF sessions, maybe, twice, thrice a week. Once we see more frequent recurrences of traumatic memories that our patient had already dealt with in previous BARF sessions—I’ll have FRIDAY calculate a rate of frequency to signal us—we can begin the reverse engineering proper. Now that will be…trickier and definitely more dangerous,” replied the engineer, shifting like a frenzied child in his seat. “We’re in this for the long haul, though, so if any of you have attention deficit problems, you can let me know now and we’ll find a substitute for you in this team.”

Steve held his breath, but thankfully, no one chose to opt out.

“How does the reverse engineering process work exactly? Will it hurt Sergeant Barnes?” Wanda meekly inquired.

“At this point, there are still some aspects of the Winter Soldier programming that is unclear to me, which is why I need you, Nat—to translate the Russian parts of the notebook for me to get a complete picture. But, basically, we need to identify the memories and neural pathways that get triggered by the sequence of programming words, isolate them, and find a way to remove the association between the words and the memories short of ‘re-wiring’ Barnes’ brain or manipulating those memories to break the connection. The process will probably hurt because it will dredge up a lot of terrible experiences, but it will be cathartic.

“I’m also starting to read up on clinical psychology right now—and I suggest the rest of you begin to as well—and I’m looking at the possibility that Barnes could be suffering from Dissociative Identity Disorder, making the Winter Soldier an identity fragment borne of his trauma and HYDRA conditioning. And the way to ‘cure’ him is not to _remove_ or _kill_ the Winter Soldier because, in actuality, there is no outright cure to DID and treatment may take _years_. But he can cope if we are to address the trauma through the continued use of the BARF until such time as he can _control_ the Winter Soldier and that’s about the nearest that we can come to uniting the identity fragments and ‘curing’ Barnes,” explained Tony quite lucidly for someone who was completely out of their field of expertise.

“Just _starting to read up_ on the subject matter, huh?” Strange teased with the smallest hint of awe.

“And I mean that _literally_ —like—I just started _last night_ ,” admitted Tony with a shrug. “I’m a long way from being an expert, Doctor, which is why I need you in this team,” uncharacteristically downplayed the otherwise cocky genius.

Steve was, for a moment, brought back to another meeting some five years ago. On a helicarrier. Discussing Thermonuclear Astrophysics and opening portals in space. Tony had been far cockier then, claiming to have become an expert in Thermonuclear Astrophysics overnight, and Steve had found the brunette too smug to be taken seriously. Things were different now. A _lot_ different. Now, Steve actually _missed_ that conceited Tony.

Tony was speaking again, yanking Steve out of his reminiscences, “and I don’t want to cock this up, so from here on out, we’re all walking on eggshells and playing this one by ear. Any other questions?”

“Is Bucky cleared to leave the facility already?” Steve, clearing his throat, asked. “He’s depressed, being plagued by bad dreams and all. I was thinking that a change of scenery can do him some good…”

“He’s hardly a prisoner here. If his doctors know about it, and they’ve given the green light… I guess, you’re just going to have to use your best judgment, Cap,” conceded Tony, not meeting Steve’s gaze at all. “Any more questions? Going once, going twice—”

“ _Sir, if I may interrupt, Sergeant Barnes was looking for Captain Rogers and I took the liberty of directing him to the boardroom. He’s on his way up, in the staircase by the secondary door_ ,” FRIDAY announced.

“His timing is perfect. If there are no more questions from the esteemed ladies and gents, I think we’re done here?” Tony snappily stood up from his cushy chair. “FRIDAY will alert you when the BARF has been fully installed in the medical building and the rehab process will officially begin. When that happens, at least one of us needs to always be present to oversee the sessions,” Tony said in parting before striding past Steve and Stephen to leave using the secondary door again.

Steve, though, was still able to catch Tony in the small hallway outside of the boardroom, having been waylaid by Bucky, who had just arrived.

“Stark,” acknowledged Bucky, his face inscrutable.

“Barnes,” Tony acknowledged back. “Hey—remember that, um, _thing_ you asked me to help you with?”

Bucky nodded once, understanding the genius’ otherwise vague question.

“Drop by the workshop some time; there’s something I need to show you,” invited Tony. He was focused solely on Bucky that there was no way he’d caught the perplexed look on Steve’s face as the latter couldn’t help but eavesdrop.

“When do you want me to drop by?” Bucky asked after the genius who was already resolutely sauntering towards the stairwell with nary a backward glance at the meeting attendees who were just filing out of the boardroom, or to the newcomer.

“You know when,” Tony hollered back with a general parting gesture as he disappeared down the stairwell.

Judging by the knowing look on Steve’s friend’s face, Steve was the only one confused by the recent exchange. He wanted to ask Bucky about it; he was nearly buzzing with curiosity, but he reined it in when he noticed that for the first time in quite a while, Bucky didn’t appear guarded or uncomfortable but serene and, lo and behold, _excited_ by the cryptic but unequivocal invitation from the compound’s resident genius to go and explore his turf.

“So…” Steve began, intruding into Bucky’s thoughts. “FRIDAY said you were looking for me?”

“The cookies were done. I was looking for you to ask if you’d already like to try some,” offered Bucky. “Sam said they’re not bad, but I definitely burned some so I’m not inclined to believe him.”

“I’ll definitely have some later. Um, listen, Buck—do you, maybe, want to leave the facility to have dinner outside? Somewhere? Somewhere outside in a restaurant?” He couldn’t believe he chose this time to babble like an incoherent idiot. “Both of us could use a pick-me-up right now.”

Bucky, at first, seemed surprised at the idea of leaving the compound to get dinner someplace else. “We can go out?”

“Only if you want. But yeah, we can go out.” Steve completely, absolutely, and totally refused to think of this as a date. In the ninety years or so since he and Bucky had been friends and in the good portion of that that Steve had been secretly pining for his best friend, they had never gone out, just the two of them. Usually, Bucky went out on a date with some girl he found attractive and the girl’s friend that was only forced, kicking and screaming, to accompany them and double date with Steve.

Bucky actually smiled at the confirmation that they, indeed, could leave the facility. And Steve was almost transported to the 30s, seeing the other man light up like the old Bucky used to. For a moment, the haggard lines to his face, the haunted tint to his gray-blue eyes and downturn of the corners of his lips disappeared and were replaced with the mischievous smirk, the naughty twinkle to the stormy blue orbs and the carefree aura from when they were young.

And Steve was assaulted yet again by the sheer force of his love for this man. A love so powerful, it was able to cross the ocean of time and the mazes of memory. Even if it remained kindled in secrecy.

“Well, let’s go then—time’s a-wastin’,” Bucky said excitedly, grabbing Steve’s forearm and tugging him to move. 

-0-0-0-

The only decent restaurant in the heart of the town, twelve miles north of the Avengers Facility, was of the European fusion persuasion. The ambience was simple but classy with a lot of impressionistic paintings on the walls, blown glass centerpieces, soft yellow light from chandeliers and corner lights, cushioned armchairs flanking tables clothed with subtle but elegant runners, and piano music emanating from speakers embedded in the ceiling. The menu was mostly Italian and French, so there was a lot of pasta fare, fish and meats smothered in olive oil and savory sauces and baked things.

Steve ordered a grouper in a delectable-sounding sauce that came highly recommended by their server while Bucky ordered some pasta. They also ordered a bread basket and a bottle of red wine to share.

Though they found themselves surrounded by couples for the most part, Steve still flat-out refused to think of this outing as a date. But he couldn’t deny it that his skin was almost buzzing with electricity at being alone with Bucky like this for the first time since what felt like a hundred years—which was a close enough approximation, all things considered.

“Do we have to return to the compound right after dinner or can we do something else?” Bucky asked after some time after they’ve been left alone by the wait staff who had taken their orders.

“Well… what do you have in mind?” Steve invited Bucky to voice any ideas about how else to spend their night outside of the compound.

Bucky looked pensive before suggesting, “how about catching a movie? Or a play, maybe? Does this town have any movie houses or theaters?”

“I remember going to a Cineplex with Sam and Scott here, but they feature mostly reruns,” supplied Steve, taking a casual swig of water from his goblet.

“That’s fine with me. Maybe we can do that?” Bucky asked like a child asking for a by-your-leave from his parents.

Steve smiled. “Sure Buck. We’ll see what’s on.” Steve hoped it was something they could see that wouldn’t otherwise trigger Bucky. A nice comedy would be good.

Bucky answered with a smile of his own, and Steve couldn’t remember seeing anything remotely similar on Bucky’s face since he had moved into the residential building and started hanging out with the rest of the team. It was the prospect of getting his memories back, hanging like the sword of Damocles over Bucky’s neck, that was probably keeping him from really letting loose and enjoying himself in new company. And his visions of his past weren’t any help at all.

And Steve, who was endlessly worrying over Bucky and how the latter might be coping, hasn’t been faring any better either.

Truth be told, _both_ of them badly needed tonight, and Steve was psyched at the prospect of enjoying their night out, much like they used to do when they were young men before war broke out.

“By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask you what Tony was on about earlier,” Steve segued to Tony’s cryptic invitation earlier that afternoon. He didn’t want to sound too eager, but he was extremely curious as to what Bucky could’ve asked Tony for help. He didn’t know if he was curious because he wanted to know if it was a matter that Bucky had gone to him first or if it was something Bucky had shared with Tony and Tony alone.

Steve didn’t know what about it unsettled him more: that Bucky could be so comfortable with Tony, too; or that Tony seemed to take a liking to Bucky as well after barely a month of what must be rare, if any at all, interactions.

Especially since Tony, who was Steve’s friend for the better part of four years and had shared the field of battle with, couldn’t even bear to look him in the eye or be in the same room with him even after nearly seven months since he’d come back to live in the Avengers Facility.

And Bucky had been around for less than a month and they were already sharing private jokes and extending secret favors to one another!

He wasn’t irked; he was just curious. Ain’t nothing wrong with being curious.

“I mean, what was that all about?” Steve rephrased, still in effort to downplay his burning curiosity.

“Oh it’s nothing. I just kinda asked him to consider helping me with something when we happened upon each other that one time at three in the morning. He said he’d think about it, and I guess, he’s thought about it now,” Bucky answered, no less cryptic than Tony’s earlier vague statement.

Steve hummed in pseudo-understanding although he understood a grand total of none of it. He clenched his jaw to kill any more attempts to try to find out more.

“It’s hard to imagine that Stark would want to extend any more help to me especially after what had happened in Siberia,” continued Bucky casually like he did not just say something explosive to Steve that was comparable to dropping a nuclear bomb in the bloody middle of New York City. If Steve had been chewing on something, he was sure to be choking on it already after that statement.

“You remember Siberia.”

Bucky was silent at first, most likely figuring out how best to answer. “Yes. I remember Siberia.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know how to bring it up.”

And of course, Bucky had to bring it up _now_. “Since when?”

“Just recently. I had a dream about it,” Bucky replied, taking a swig of water himself with downcast eyes that refused to meet Steve’s. “There’s something about what went down in Siberia that I don’t understand, Steve.”

Steve cocked his head, prompting his friend.

“I _killed_ Stark’s parents, and he just wanted to avenge them by killing me, which was no more than I deserve,” Bucky began, fidgeting where he sat. “Why did you stop him? Why did you defend me?”

That was easy. “Because you’re my friend. And because it wasn’t your fault.” Steve knew that he could live and re-live what had happened in Siberia over and over again, but nothing about his decision to stand between Bucky and Tony was going to change.

“How is that possible? How can a person kill someone and not be at fault?” Bucky was beginning to look haunted again. So much for their enjoyable night out of the stifling walls of the compound.

“I… I can’t tell you, Bucky. It’s something that you’re going to have to come to terms with yourself,” said Steve, pained upon seeing Bucky’s wrecked expression. “And I know that you’re sick and tired of having someone else know more about your life than you do, but you have to believe me that it will all make sense soon enough,” Steve begged, reaching for Bucky’s hand on the table and gripping his wrist in reassurance. “All you need to know right now is that you’re a good man—a _good man_ , Bucky. Don’t ever doubt that. I did what I did because that is what a good man deserves, and if I have to choose again whether or not to defend you against Tony, I will choose to save you every damn time; do you hear me?”

Bucky, with glassy eyes that finally met Steve’s, nodded slowly. Steve squeezed his friend’s wrist tighter at that. He felt his heart break for Bucky anew. Life had been so unfair to him when all he had wanted was to keep an eye on Steve’s back while a war raged around them. Help was within his grasp now, but even getting better and regaining what it was he had lost was going to be a battlefield.

It was all because Steve failed to reach for him on that train.

Some friend he was. When it seemed that all that he could do for his friends was fail them.

And he _loved_ Bucky to boot! He should’ve just jumped off the train into that gorge after Bucky when he had the chance.

Before Steve could further lament on the conflict that was his life, their dinner arrived. Steve started digging into his food with a pensive air when he noticed Bucky’s food.

“Is that really what you ordered?”

“Yeah why?” Bucky asked, mixing his pasta. It was olive oil-based with smoked salmon, basil and olives. “I love salmon and olives,” the amnesiac continued with relish.

Bucky _hated_ olives. At least, he used to. He didn’t like them with anything—not with liquor, pasta or when it came in jars. Steve remembered Bucky used to pick them off his food with furrowed brows, saying he didn’t like them for the aftertaste.

Not this Bucky, though. Apparently, this Bucky loved olives.

“It was nothing; don’t mind me.” Steve decided not to continue what he was going to say. Of course, Bucky had every right to change his mind about his preferences. He had every right to _change_. After all, it had been a long time, and people’s nature was to change. He shouldn’t expect Bucky to still be the same Bucky he had known all those long years ago. And Bucky _has_ changed.

Steve surreptitiously watched Bucky demolish his pasta that was peppered with olives, one-handedly. While the old Bucky always insisted on being clean-shaven, with vainly coiffed short hair, Bucky had no qualms now about sporting a two-day beard and that funny-looking man-bun.

It wasn’t that he looked _horrible_ or something. Because Steve doubted if Bucky could look horrible in anything. It was just that, on Steve’s part, it was like he was getting to know Bucky again. In his mind, at times, he couldn’t help but compare the Bucky he was with now to the person his friend used to be when they together before and during the war.

Bucky was less roguish now, too. He was more introspective, pensive and guarded when he used to wear his heart on his sleeve and had a mischievous twinkle in his eye for almost everything. He clenched his jaw more than he smiled now as well. But, inwardly chastising himself, what was Steve expecting anyway? That Bucky was going to be back to his old fun-loving self like nothing had happened when the reality was that he had seventy years of trauma and HYDRA conditioning to get through?

Something as monumental as what Bucky had gone through tended to change people. And it changed Bucky. Ain’t nothing wrong with change. The important thing was Bucky was here now, and Steve would protect him at all costs. No matter how much _both of them_ had changed through the years.

“Here. Slide your plate over so I can give you some of this. It’s really good; you should try it,” Bucky offered shyly. Steve indulged him by doing what he’d asked, and Bucky awkwardly hefted forkfuls of the pasta from his plate to Steve’s with a slight twinkle in those arresting stormy blues.

“OK. But you’re having some of mine, too,” said Steve, putting some of his fare on Bucky’s plate for the latter to taste.

Now _that_ was something that time wasn’t able to touch. He and Bucky used to share everything. It was part of who they were and what they meant to each other. They had spent many a meal, sharing what meager portions they had with each other, so while a lot of things have indeed changed. Deep down, what they meant to each other was always going to be there.

For that, Steve was quite thankful.

Steve was glad to pay for the dinner to Bucky’s profuse thanks, and before the night was any deeper, they found themselves standing outside the Cineplex to see what was showing.

“ _Hot Tub Time Machine_? Have you seen it?” Bucky asked, turning to Steve instead of to the people dawdling outside of the theater and murmuring about his hard-to-hide stump of a left arm that made his sleeve dangle uselessly beside his torso.

“Not yet, but I remember Clint mentioning it before. It’s a comedy, I think.”

“So… can we watch or is it going to be risky for me?” Bucky hesitantly asked.

The truth was Steve didn’t really know what was going to be triggering for Bucky. His doctors had hinted several times that for someone who was suffering from amnesia like Bucky’s, _anything_ could be a trigger. The dangerous part was what kind of response the trigger was going to elicit.

But they were already there anyway, and Bucky looked so hopeful that they could spend more time outside of the compound before they had to go back so Steve made a decision. “I don’t see why we can’t. Come on—let’s see it.”

The theater was already dim when they were making their way inside, carrying a plastic bottle of soda each and a big tub of popcorn to share. But even in the muted light, Steve noticed people staring at them—well—at _Bucky_ , especially at Bucky’s amputated arm. Steve could tell this was making Bucky uncomfortable, but his friend, probably realizing that it was too late for them to tuck tail and leave, squared his shoulders and kept pace with Steve to find their seats.

Bucky sat to Steve’s right, that way they had Bucky’s missing limb tucked between the two of them, and Bucky could still paw at the popcorn tub they were supposed to be sharing. Despite Bucky’s missing limb, Steve could still feel the heat of his friend’s body against him and it made him shiver. Stealing a glance at his recovering friend, Steve felt his heart swell at the sight of Bucky seated close beside him.

Sometimes, he still couldn’t believe that Bucky was back. That they had made it to this place and time together. That Steve had another chance to love Bucky, to make it up to him after every hardship he had suffered while they were apart.

Steve could’ve stared at Bucky in the darkness of that cinema all night, and watch every twinkle in the other man’s eyes, every smile, every purse of his lips, every play of light and shadow on his ruggedly handsome face. The movie must have been funny because it was the most amused Steve had ever seen Bucky, save for that time they watched the other Avengers playing _Twister_ on Easter.

The Captain should not have taken his eyes off his friend because things quickly went pear-shaped from there. The scene playing out on screen was a tussle in the snow between the movie’s villain and one of the protagonists, and suddenly Bucky was clutching at the side of his head, scattering popcorn kernels everywhere, and shuddering. A wild look passed Bucky’s stormy blue eyes, and he started murmuring in what sounded like broken, stilted Russian.

“Bucky—Buck? Buck?!” Steve turned to the shuddering Bucky, popcorn tub forgotten. But before he could grab Bucky, the latter bolted out of his seat and bounded over the rows of seats in front of them, leaping over the heads of irate moviegoers, who were only just starting to panic.

Steve was also off his seat in a heartbeat, and, thumbing his smartphone, got in touch with the Avengers Facility Command Center. “Vision, it’s Steve. I need back-up in the Cineplex along the main thoroughfare of town, twelve miles north of the compound. It’s Bucky.”

“Acknowledged Captain. Back-up is coming in approximately seven minutes,” Vision informed, no doubt already making the necessary response arrangements.

“Make it less,” Steve advised before he cut the connection and hit the right-side aisle where Bucky was still confusedly turning on his heels, looking either for the nearest way out or for hostiles to take down along his path.

“Bucky! It’s me, Steve. You need to calm down, buddy,” Steve called, raising his hands in a placating gesture. Noticing cinema security making their way towards the pair of them, Steve raised a hand to them and in a holler, said, “don’t come any closer to him, please. He won’t hurt anyone unless he feels threatened.”

Not heeding Steve’s request, three burly men walked purposefully towards Bucky and tried to seize him by his one arm. Two of them had Tasers and a baton out to subdue what they perceived to be a threat to the security. They were no match even for a one-armed Winter Soldier.

“Bucky, no!” Steve called just as one of the security personnel hit the floor on his back. Steve was similarly spurred to action to keep any more civilians from getting hurt, trying to stop a rampaging former HYDRA mercenary.

“Bucky, stop!” Steve yelled into his friend’s ear when he already had the other man in a half nelson choke hold to try to put a stop to the confused violence.

The amnesiac muttered something back through the choke hold that Steve couldn’t understand because it was _definitely_ Russian. How could it have happened? Was this the Winter Soldier? If so, how was the HYDRA asset triggered without the programming words?

“I don’t want to hurt you, Bucky. You have to stop!” Steve pleaded, not letting up on the choke hold, but loosening his legs that had instinctively wrapped around Bucky’s torso, completely immobilizing the latter.

Alarm crawled like a current up Steve’s spine nearly making him lose hold of Bucky when he saw the wild, hateful and completely unrecognizing fire in Bucky’s eyes. Had he lost his friend again to the blind rage and violence that was the Winter Soldier programming? “Stop Bucky! You’ve got to fight this! You’re James Buchanan Barnes; you’re my friend and not a mindless mercenary. You have to fight this, please… _Please_ …”

Another commotion broke out at the back of the theater, staunching the flow of panicked people leaving the cinema. Back-up’s finally arrived.

“Over here!” Steve yelled, loosening the choke hold a bit when he felt less resistance from the person he was trying to hold down. The Captain saw Bucky’s eyes roll behind his lids as he lost consciousness completely.

Sam, with Falcon wings strapped to his back, knelt beside the pair of them, worry etched on his face. Instinctively, he sought out Bucky’s neck pulse to check that the latter had only indeed succumbed to unconsciousness. “What happened, man?” He asked Steve, taking Bucky’s arm to sling it over his shoulders to haul the unconscious man up and leaving Steve on the floor to gather himself.

“I don’t know. He was triggered, and he started to panic when security personnel came to try to deal with him. Who’s with you?”

“Vision is outside, casing the area and checking the leaving civilians for any injuries. The quinjet is coming for transport. But our first priority was to get here and have your back,” Sam relayed, shifting in Bucky’s dead weight as Steve got back on his feet to help Sam and pick up the slack.

“Let’s go home,” sighed Steve. Hopefully, home held some answers for what had just happened.


	9. 09. TONY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony just can't seem to avoid uncomfortable encounters with Bucky. Bucky uses the BARF for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So since I effed up with last update's delay, I saw to it to finish this one on time. I present the next chappie, YAAAAY!!!!
> 
> Anyway, just a few notes: Tony sings because RDJ sings, and I love, love, LOVE RDJ (and Tony) very much. Tony sings SMILE, because RDJ sang a version of SMILE in his The Futurist album (I'll give you a YouTube link in the End Notes). As said in the summary, Bucky uses the BARF for the first time, and I hope this is realistic for all of us. The brain is a majestic thing, very powerful, and not all it's secrets have already been unraveled. This is me giving ode to how powerful our brain is--how vital our memories are.
> 
> Memories in _italics_
> 
> Same drill y'all! Hope to hear your thoughts on the story so far! Rape those Kudos and Comment buttons, I adore hearing from you.
> 
> ENJOY!  
> \---

 

“How long has it been, Fry, since Barnes was taken to the medical building for observation after the triggering episode in the movie house?” Tony asked, barely looking away from the coding work he was doing for an SI project, although another holo-screen taking up nearly a third of the far wall of the entire workshop was up showing live footage of the room in the medical building where Barnes was strapped down on a hospital bed.

“ _It’s been 49 hours, 34 minutes, Sir,_ ” FRIDAY dutifully answered.

“How’s he holding up? Any more fits of violence and Russian-speaking litanies?” Tony asked, stopping his coding work to really pay attention to FRIDAY’s report of Barnes’ current state.

“ _None since 5 hours, 47 minutes ago. His vitals are now all within normal ranges. He’s currently unconscious, Sir. Brain activity doesn’t indicate that he’s dreaming or that he’s in REM sleep. He’s just…out like a light._ ”

“Must have been one hell of a trigger,” Tony mused, his eyebrows furrowing. “Who’s with him right now?”

“ _Captain Rogers is currently with him. The Captain hasn’t slept or eaten since Sergeant Barnes was taken to the medical building,_ ” FRIDAY reported with a hint of disapproving worry in her voice, a testament to Tony’s coding work that such subtle inflections could be detected from FRIDAY’s manner. The camera, for added effect, zoomed in on Steve’s worn face. He seemed like he had aged twenty years in two days.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me. Jesus, I bet he pisses in a bottle, too, just so he doesn’t have to leave the side of his Bucky’s sickbed. What’s the rest of the team done about this?” Tony practically spat. He was annoyed, and he didn’t even want to come to terms with _why_ he was annoyed at Steve’s utter devotion to his friend that he didn’t want to leave the other man’s bedside until he was sure that Barnes was out of the woods.

Or that his Bucky was coming back to him.

“ _Ms. Romanoff and Mr. Wilson have tried to convince him to get some rest several times since yesterday to no avail, Sir. They might have given up on hounding him._ ”

“It’s pathetic—don’t you think it’s pathetic, FRIDAY?” Tony asked, petulantly trying to find sympathy from his AI. “You’re saying he hasn’t _slept or eaten_ in almost _50 hours_?!” Tony asked, shaking his head at what he thought was Steve’s utter idiocy. “He’s fucking crazy…” Tony murmured almost to himself, and then, standing up, squared his shoulders. “That’s it. I’m putting a stop to this.” He was going to march his ass to the medical building to knock some sense into the bleeding heart Captain, if it was the last thing he did.

As he stubbornly made his way to where Barnes was happily out of it, Tony tried to convince himself that he was marching off towards the medical building because he was fed up with having to get reports from FRIDAY that Steve has been staging some kind of no-food-and-no-sleep vigil since Barnes has taken ill after the episode during their night out together. It certainly wasn’t because Tony was _worried_ or anything. He couldn’t care less if Steve wanted to slash his wrists and bathe Barnes in sacrificial blood or something, but this devoted watch was _fucking nuts_! It wasn’t like Barnes was going to get any better with every hour that Steve didn’t eat or sleep…

But ten minutes into his march and just as he was about to open the door to Barnes’ hospital room, he knew he’d failed to convince himself that he wasn’t worried. Because he was.

He was just a tad jealous and resentful, too, if truth be told. But he would sooner go to his grave than admit it.

“Alright Cap, time to go pal,” Tony practically growled as he barged into the room, uncaring that he might wake the patient up.

“Tony, what are you—“

“Chop chop. You’re leaving,” Tony interrupted, not giving him a chance to say a word in edgewise. “You’ve been here for 49 hours and 45 minutes; tell me I’m wrong. I dare you. I _double_ dare you,” challenged the engineer.

“I—“

“Time to go. You’re getting out of here to grab a bite to eat, take a bath and catch some Z’s. Don’t try to argue with me, Cap, because I won’t take no for an answer,” said Tony, channeling his bossy CEO persona. “I know you’re pretty hardy, but you’re not invincible. This stubborn bedside vigil is not going to do your friend any good.”

“Tony, it’s—“

“Go on, get! The sooner you’re out of here, the quicker you can get back so you can both cry noisy, happy tears for when he wakes up and sees your face first thing.” It wasn’t bitterness. It fucking wasn’t. “I’ll even stay here with him, keep your seat warm for when you come running back.” Goddamn if every word didn’t leave a bad taste in Tony’s mouth!

“Well, um…tha—thank you, Tony,” Steve said softly, standing up from his seat and making for the door. “I’ll—um—be back as soon as I can,” the Captain assured, turning to give the insensible Barnes a long, inscrutable gaze. “Will… you be alright watching him?”

Tony just hummed in acknowledgment and reply, not trusting his voice. It wasn’t important to express his annoyance for the current state of things. What was important was to have Steve get some rest and sustenance. He took the recently vacated seat to the right of Barnes’ hospital bed just as Steve, leaving, pulled the door closed on their patient and his new minder.

Silence spent in the company of someone in catatonia, and without a screwdriver within reach was the least ideal arrangement for one Tony Stark. While it was true that he could easily fall into one of his deep engineering-slash-tinkering zones, losing himself in focused silence sometimes for hours, those usually only happened when he was up to his eyebrows in projects and he was in the comfort of his workshop.

Certainly not when he was in a hospital room without any hand tools or his helper bots, looking at someone who had no idea he was even there. Thank the heavens he had at least his tablet to trawl through some schematics and review calculations or he would have gone bat shit insane within five minutes.

But even with his tablet, Tony found his attention wandering after less than half an hour. He noticed again with furrowed brows how Barnes was strapped to the bed with restraints around his wrists, arms, torso, thighs and ankles. The medical personnel might have gotten fed up with having to hold Barnes down after the nth time of him thrashing in bed with murder in his eyes and no-doubt threats of torture screamed in Russian. Tony could only surmise how that might have sat with Steve, having to see his Bucky restrained to the bed like a wild animal. But if Steve were reasonable, he wouldn’t have protested much considering the kind of threat that the Winter Soldier posed if the latter were to remain unchecked.

The specialists had all sorts of theories about what could have happened in the movie house, but Steve, and to a certain extent, Tony too, was only interested in how that was going to affect the Sergeant’s rehabilitation moving forward.

Tony was personally interested to know if the movie house episode was going to be some kind of setback. In that case, it was really unfortunate especially since the BARF was already installed and ready for Barnes’ use. The team—composed of Strange, Nat, Maximoff, the Captain, and him, which Tony had started to refer to as the _Barnes Rehab Team_ , formally, and _Team Bring Barnes’ Brain Back_ , informally, in his mind—unanimously agreed to postpone any BARF sessions indefinitely until they were reasonably certain as to what effect the movie house incident has on their patient’s already precarious mental health.

He went back to checking schematics on his tablet to try to amuse himself and not think too much about Steve or Barnes or anything at all, really. But after barely an hour of thumbing the gadget he had come there with, Tony’s mind was meandering again.

To beta tests 14, 15 and 16 of the BARF.

Despite having scrapped the first beta test 14, the second one as well as the succeeding tests all proved themselves absolute mind fucks. And, one way or another, they all involved Captain Steven Grant Rogers.

It was becoming harder to claim that everything was just peachy, that nothing’s changed from the way he’d always looked at Cap to what the man was to Tony now. To start, part of the reason for Tony’s single-minded focus to rehabilitate Barnes was Cap.

To prove to Steve that Tony wasn’t a vindictive asshole. To guilt-trip Steve and make him feel even worse for abandoning Tony in Siberia. To get that irritating expression of melancholy and longing off Steve’s face by giving him back what—or _who_ —it was he wanted to be with most in the whole world… Steve, Steve, _Steve_ …

Tony could fool himself ninety-nine times out of a hundred that he was doing this magnanimous thing for Barnes’ benefit himself, or even for his own redemption, but there was always going to be that _one time_ , when Tony was at his weakest and his most miserable, that he wouldn’t be able to deny that he was doing all of this to get Steve to smile.

He started humming Smile by Charlie Chaplin, not realizing that he was, for lack of something better to do to get his mind off the last couple of BARF tests and Steve. Pretty soon, he was softly singing the words of the song as popularized by Nat King Cole. “… _If you smile through your fear and sorrow, smile and maybe tomorrow, you’ll see the sun come shining through for you,_ ” Tony sang, tapping his fingers against the face of the tablet in time with the words to the song. “ _Light up your face with gladness. Hide every trace of sadness. Although a tear may be ever so near, that’s the time you must keep on trying. Smile what’s the use of crying? You’ll find that life is still worthwhile if you’ll just…smile._ ”

“I didn’t know that you have a nice singing voice,” the previously unconscious patient, prostrate on the hospital bed suddenly piped up, awake and instantly observant.

Tony gave a startled yelp in surprise, nearly dropping his tablet. “Fucking shit, Barnes! You couldn’t’ve given a guy some warning?”

“Sorry.” Barnes didn’t sound sorry at all, the little shit.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Tony greeted, more composed this time. “You scared the living shit out of Steve, just so you know.” He tucked the tablet behind him on the chair to get it out of the way.

“How long was I out of it?” Barnes asked, making to sit up in bed but for the restraints strapping him down. “Do I want to know why I’m _tied_ to the bed?”

“Think you’re being kinky, aren’t you?” Tony asked, amused in spite of himself. “You were out for nearly 50 hours, and you, Sir, are tied to the bed to keep you from harming people and yourself. Bad memory?”

Barnes snorted, “that’s an understatement.” He stopped resisting the restraints and just lay in bed, immobile and staring at the ceiling.

“I remember my Ma. I remember Steve, the war, training to be a sniper, running missions with the Howling Commandos. I remember HYDRA. I remember my first mission for HYDRA. I remember my first kill.”

There was nothing to say to that so Tony just gulped and exhaled lengthily through his nose. So the asset could finally remember what he had been, for over fifty years, used for. Barnes was unusually calm for someone who’s just found out he had been a mercenary for a nefarious organization hell bent on making the world their bitch. 

“It was 1959. HYDRA wanted a scientist formerly working for them killed because he knew too much. And since they couldn’t be sure that he hadn’t told any of his family members what it was he had been working on for them, HYDRA wanted the scientist’s entire family dealt with,” Barnes narrated as if he was merely telling a story that had happened to someone else. “I killed an entire family, Stark. An _entire_ family. Their blood splashed on the white snow. Their pleas for mercy were drowned by the howling of winds in snow-capped mountains. And I couldn’t stop it…I—I knew what I was doing but it was like I was just along for the ride and all I could do was watch.”

Silence. Silence so stifling, Tony found it hard to breathe. Why did weird encounters like this with Barnes _always_ have to happen to him? Why couldn’t it have happened while Steve was here holding his 49-hour devoted bedside vigil? He just fucking got here and Barnes was already pouring his troubled soul out to _Tony_ , of all people!

“I’m a mercenary for a criminal organization so fanatic they don’t care how many people have to pay with their lives just for their new world order to be carried out. I’m a murderer. A _murderer_ who’s killed who knows how many others—including your _parents_. Are you sure you still want a hand in saving someone like me?”

Tony crossed his arms over his chest and tucked a leg under the other on his seat. He didn’t bother correcting Barnes’ assumption that he was _still_ a hired killer for HYDRA. If there was any way he could make Barnes sweat it out a little bit longer, he wasn’t completely averse to the idea.

Breathing a calming breath, Tony, mildly irritated, spoke: “haven’t we had this conversation before? Everyone can be saved if they want to, Barnes. The device I’m working on is ready. The question is: are you? Because murderer or no, you owe it to yourself to find out who you are.”

“What for?” Barnes asked, his eyes glistening with the pain of his past that he could barely remember.

Tony, casually leaning back on his seat, replied, “so you can make a choice, from here on out, who you would like to be.”

-0-0-0-

Tony’s attention from his last-minute code check was stolen when Barnes fidgeted where he stood for the nth time since coming into the hall in the subbasement of the medical building where the BARF had been transferred for Barnes’ use.

This was the first time that Barnes was going to try using the BARF on the long road to his rehabilitation, and the former soldier was, understandably, anxious for a variety of reasons, some of which Tony had been involuntarily privy to during their one-too-many three a.m. encounters and after Barnes had regained consciousness after the movie house incident.

Stealing a glance towards the observation deck, overlooking the hall where the BARF set-up was installed, Tony caught sight of Natasha and Cap, standing like watchful sentinels, through the laminated glass partition of the self-contained room where they can safely observe the goings-on in the hangar-type room where the BARF had been placed. Cap looked just as anxious as Barnes, clenching and unclenching his strong jaw and crossing and uncrossing his arms over his expansive chest. Natasha, on the other hand, was as unruffled as ever, but her attentive eyes betrayed her own nerves.

It was two weeks since Barnes had regained consciousness after the movie house triggering episode, and the Barnes Rehab Team members were all in agreement that after a fortnight of Barnes talking to his specialists and what seemed to be a pretty steady rate of recovery of minor tidbits from his past, the Sergeant was ready to use the BARF. They all got the same feedback from the handful of specialists attending to Barnes that there was no better time to start rehabilitation proper than now.

The BARF was set up much like it was in Tony’s workshop although the makeshift blue panels where the images would be thrown towards were less crude now and more Hollywood-esque, erected through steel frames screwed to the floor. The panels were also fanned out instead of more compactly set-up like in the workshop, to allow the observers on the deck to see the memory also. There were banks of flat screens peppering the area to monitor their patient’s vital signs—blood pressure, heart rate, brain chemistry and activity, even pupil dilation. And unlike in Tony’s workshop, the area where the subject was supposed to stand was also covered in padded blue canvas both for protection and enabling the immersive experience.

“Talk to me, Fry. Everything good to go?” Tony asked, reverting his attention back to the lines upon lines of code on one of the flat screens.

“ _I have been uploaded to the medical building mainframe for the purpose of overseeing the use of the BARF. Everything seems to be in order, Sir,_ ” confirmed FRIDAY in her usual chipper voice.

“Lock and load, then,” said Tony, plucking the BARF nodes that were supposed to go on the subject’s head from the nearby table and walking towards a still fidgeting Barnes. The latter was standing on the fringes of the padded blue canvas with downcast eyes and a tense stance.

Tony stood in front of Barnes and, holding the former mercenary’s gaze, gently put on the temple tips that were supposed to go behind the shell of the ears, anchoring the BARF nodes to rest behind the ear lobes, on top of the temporo-mandibular joint, one after the other. He wordlessly adjusted the holograph projecting temple arms along the side of Barnes’ face, ending against the temples. All the while, Tony held Barnes’ stormy blue gaze and saw both the doubt and the dread in them, so by way of reassurance, Tony cupped Barnes’ face in his calloused engineer’s hands and said: “hey—you’re gonna be OK. Your past is not who you are. Trust me; I’m speaking from experience.” He lightly patted Barnes’ right cheek before nodding once and moving out of the way to stand on the far right edge of the blue canvas floor so as to keep Barnes within his sights.

This was the BARF’s initial run after all; he wanted to keep a close eye on things to ensure that his device was working properly. It had nothing to do with his own nerves over Barnes’ discovery of his past and his possible reaction.

Barnes turned to look at him again and, with a deep breath, nodded once. “Begin the BARF initiation sequence, FRIDAY,” signaled Tony and they were off.

The hall lights dimmed as the initiation sequence started. An array of disjointed images was projected on the panels. Once or twice, Tony thought he saw someone familiar in the images, maybe Steve or Tony’s father, Howard, or his father’s close friend and colleague, Peggy Carter. Like scenes from different movies edited together and then played on fast-forward, the images flashed almost nauseatingly until it slowed, trickled and, finally, stopped on a mountain vista with a fast-moving train, snaking through tracks nearly invisible in the snow that ran along the edge of a gorge.

_A man clad in iconic red, white and blue dropped from a taut line running above the moving train, closely followed by a man in a midnight blue coat and army fatigues with a sniper’s rifle slung on his back. The two walked towards one of the train cars near the front and scaled a steel ladder from the roof to the side to open an access hatch that would take them inside. Once inside, the two men came upon a compartment of what seemed to be high-grade munitions. Hesitating to walk the length of the train to a different compartment, the two tread carefully with the man in red, white and blue going first. Once the latter was through to the next car, the access doors between the compartments slid shut, separating them._

_The man in the deep blue coat went against several armed opponents and held his own until the man had shot the long-nose rifle empty and all that was left was one faceless adversary. He was crouched in a corner behind metal crates holding a hand gun and preparing to move. Shooting at the lone hostile with his left hand, he slammed his back against the other side of the compartment and slid low behind even more metal containers of weapons. Several more shots were exchanged until the hand gun, too, was out of ammo. But just as the man in blue was mulling how, without a weapon, he was nearly out of options, the compartment where the man in red, white and blue had gone in opened. The costumed man tossed him a fresh hand gun and charged into the compartment with his shield up, pushing a metal container towards the lone hostile, which the latter evaded long enough for the man in blue to catch him unawares and shoot._

_“I had him on the ropes,” the man in blue said, defensive._

_“I know you did,” the one with the shield responded with the slightest of amused purses on his lips._

It was like watching a rehearsed dance. How the two men moved with just nodding to each other as signals was seamless. Like they knew how the other would move before they actually did.

But their triumph was short-lived.

_Behind them, another adversary came forward with a peculiar weapon that glowed blue. “Get down!” The man toting the shield said, stepping in front of the blue-clad man just in time as the peculiar gun fired, sending them flying willy-nilly and blasting a gaping hole on the side of the train that faced the ravine._

_“Fire again. Kill him now!” Someone else enunciated from the public address system of the train. The man in blue picked up the shield that the other man had dropped and, bravely stepping forward, started shooting at their new adversary with a hand gun. However, the latest hostile fired the bluish weapon again right at the shield, sending the man in blue towards the gaping hole on the train’s side._

_“Bucky!”_

The man in the suit that was reminiscent of the flag was of course none other than Captain America, Steve Rogers. He had yanked the helmet off before looking out of the hole that was blasted through by the weird weapon. The man in blue was Sergeant James Barnes and he was hanging precariously from a handrail on the blown wall of the train.

_“Hang on!” Steve inched towards his friend, stepping out of the safety of the train. Bucky grappled to try to reach his friend “Grab my hand!” Steve called out, fear was clearly emblazoned on every line of his face. The handrail that Bucky hung on from buckled. “No…” Steve said._

It was funny how one simple syllable could carry such a heavy combination of emotions.

_The handrail detached completely and Bucky plunged towards the snowy void, his hands still reaching for Steve and his cry echoing in the mountains._

Even Tony, hardened by his own battles that weren’t to be trifled with, averted his eyes in distress at what he had just witnessed through the BARF. This was where it all began, everything bad that was going to happen in James Barnes’ life. Tony wondered if, had Barnes known what was going to happen to him with the Winter Soldier and HYDRA, the Sergeant had ever resented Steve for not being fast or strong enough to catch him that day.

_“I had him on the ropes.”_

_“I know you did.”_

Tony looked up from the blue padded canvas floor to the holographic images on the panels. Barnes was replaying the memory. He re-watched every move, every split second decision, every pull of the trigger. Was he perhaps looking for where it had all gone wrong, where things could have been different, where either of them made a bad call that ended in Steve going to confront Schmidt guns-blazing and sending him in the ice for the next seventy years, and Barnes in the hands of HYDRA as their unknowing and unwilling weapon?

_“Bucky! Hang on! Grab my hand! No…”_

_“I had him on the ropes.”_

_“I know you did.”_

Tony craned his neck to look at the observation deck. At Steve, who had about the most wrecked expression without breaking into noisy and copious tears. To have to relive the day he had lost his best friend in the whole world, his _beloved_ despite society’s dictates that outlawed same-sex relationships… For the first time since Siberia, Tony understood Steve’s protectiveness over Barnes, Steve’s guilt and his need to save Barnes _that_ time that was over seventy years too late.

Tony’s understanding came with inexplicable pain, however. Pain that was of a completely different kind from what he had felt like in Siberia.

_“Grab my hand! No…”_

The agony on memory-Steve’s face, the heavy breathing, the shoulders wracked with sobs drowned by the whipping wind—they reminded Tony of something, his own memory of Steve.

A Steve from another time and place…

Tearing his eyes away from memory-Steve, Tony strode closer to Barnes, who was standing rigid at the heart of the padded canvas floor, cheeks wet with tear stains.

_“I had him on the ropes.”_

_“I know you did”_

“I remember how that day started,” Barnes murmured, blinking fast probably to clear the sting of unshed tears. “I don’t blame him. I never did. And I don’t regret jumping back in the fray of war for him after he had saved me from HYDRA the first time; I figured I’ve been watching his back since we were kids, he wouldn’t be able to make it back alive without me.”

_“Grab my hand! No…”_

“He would’ve jumped in that ravine right after you,” observed Tony, trying to disregard the ache in the vicinity of where his arc reactor used to sit. He couldn’t keep staring at memory-Steve’s agonized face nor could he look away.

“I wouldn’t have wanted him to,” Bucky murmured. “I didn’t imagine that I could remember how his face looked as I fell. If not for this…device you created, I never would have seen it. Thank you.” An almost whimper escaped from his lips with those thanks before the memory of the train speeding in the snow dissolved to be replaced by another memory.

_A man with a cybernetic arm gleaming in the weak sunlight was clad in black. Steve was in sooty khaki trousers and a blue jacket. They were in some kind of tussle in the middle of an intersection overlooked by a bridge. The man’s muzzle lay on the asphalt halfway between them. The man in black faced Steve._

_“Bucky?”_

_“Who the hell is Bucky?” The Winter Soldier raised a gun to shoot at Steve but Sam, flying with his Falcon wings, knocked the Captain out of the way. The Winter Soldier, hesitating for just a fraction of a heartbeat, aimed to shoot at Steve again, but that time, it was Natasha, with a grenade launcher, who foiled him._

Without Tony noticing it, Barnes’ legs had crumpled from right underneath him, presumably due to the sheer force of the memories being brought to the forefront of his consciousness. Tony was only clued in that something was wrong with Barnes when the holographic images before them cut back to the empty blue panels, and Barnes, groaning as if in pain, started yanking the BARF nodes off the sides of his face and shuddering like he was going to be violently sick.

“St—stop, stop…” Barnes breathlessly slurred. “Please, I’d like to stop now.” He looked ill.

Tony went down on one knee beside Barnes to see if there was anything he could do to get Barnes back up on his feet again. “OK, alright—right, right… We—uh—we can stop.” Tony looked up and signaled to the mere handful of medical personnel in the room to begin to attend to Barnes. “You’re not going to change anything in the memories?” He asked Barnes as unobtrusively as he could.

“No.”

“FRIDAY, save and terminate. We’re postponing the session to another day,” he alerted his AI. Then, twisting, he looked up at the observation deck where Steve had himself nearly pressed against the glass, worried about his friend’s collapse no doubt. Tony gave a thumbs-up that he hoped was reassuring enough before walking towards the nearest bank of computers to check if anything was affected by the abrupt shut-down of the device.

He only raised his head from the monitor to catch Steve entering the hall and rushing to Barnes’ side after the latter had already been fussed over by medical personnel. “Are you alright?” Tony didn’t need eyes to know how worried Steve was. Hearing his voice break was enough.

“Yes… I’m alright.”

“Buck, I’m sor—“

“Stevie, it’s OK. You’ve nothing to be sorry for. It’s alright,” placated Bucky with a slight chortle to his voice though there was a harried hint to it.

An unexplainable mass lodged itself in Tony’s throat that he found it hard to breathe. He felt like he was intruding in something private, so before any of the men could feel awkward about him being there to witness this heart-rending encounter, Tony wordlessly slipped out of the BARF hall and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smile by Robert Downey Jr (The Futurist, 2004):  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=buVevbf-GJQ


	10. 10. STEVE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky is on a memory-recovering roll. Steve gives Bucky a present, and tells Bucky that he loves him. Bucky still flirts with Tony, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to give everyone some heads-up that I will be up in the air with _Love of Ours_ because I have to finish writing my Cap-IM Big Bang 2016 entry. I am on a very short leash and the Mods only just allowed me to enter it despite its inadequacy, but only _just_. I'm only 45% done writing the whole thing and I only have until NOVEMBER to put the outline of the rest of the story in prose form. But I wouldn't be deterred... I WILL finish these two things/stories!!! *channels inner superhero powers* So if I become erratic in updating this, know that it's because of my BB 2016 entry. Which I am having a blast writing, btw. Keep your eyes peeled for that one. Personally, I'm looking forward to the art. :-D
> 
> So for this update, we get a preview of Stucky. Bucky is still trawling through his decades' worth of trauma, and we also see a bit of green (with jealousy) Steve--now _why_ he's jealous, even he can't come to terms with yet. We get more Steve-Bucky dynamics and a short appearance by Tony, which is a prelude to more WinterIron, which I am, personally, looking forward to...
> 
> Same drill y'all! Looking forward to hearing your thoughts on the story!
> 
> Memories in _italics_.
> 
> Don't forget to ENJOY!  
> \---

****It was as if the floodgates were opened after that first time that Bucky used the BARF. He was on a roll since then, recalling notable events in his life before, during and after the war. While the memories all seemed quite random and fractured to Steve, he was still glad that Bucky was getting some kind of handle on the life he’s lived so far.

Bucky’s mood was also steadily improving because of the rate of his memory recovery. Steve was beginning to see the old twinkle to Bucky’s eyes more and more with every passing day. The former asset was still quieter, more brooding and less generous with his sentiments than the old Bucky used to be, but Steve still counted the slow but steady recuperation as a win. 

Although Steve still suspected Bucky to be sleeping fitfully, the Captain thought better than to harangue his friend about that. The important thing was Bucky was getting better.

Which was more than Steve could say about his still nowhere-close-to-civil relationship with Tony.

After that first BARF session weeks ago, it was like Tony had slipped off the face of the earth again. The engineer had never gone to any succeeding sessions despite his own advice to the rest of the Barnes Rehab Team that at least one of them needed to always be present to oversee the sessions. It was if he had already assumed that since Steve was not about to miss one session anyway that he, Tony, didn’t need to be around anymore.

Steve didn’t even know why that incensed him more than it should.

Perhaps it was because Bucky had, on more than one occasion, wondered out loud if Tony would be coming to the BARF sessions, or if Tony would be joining the team for a meal, or if Tony would mind if he popped in to the workshop based on an earlier invitation which Tony might have already forgotten about entirely.

It was possibly the mystery surrounding Tony, his elusiveness, that made Bucky eager to know more about him.

Today, it was Steve and Wanda overseeing the BARF session. But that didn’t prevent Bucky from wondering. “I really hope it’s going to be a pre-war memory today; I haven’t been getting any of them this past week…

“Hey Stevie, do you think Tony’s going to help oversee today?”

And when exactly had Bucky gone from referring to their resident tech genius as Stark to _Tony_ instead?

“I don’t know, Buck. He’s probably busy,” Steve answered automatically. He loathed it, having to sound like a broken record, making excuses for Tony to Bucky. He seemed to have also missed the memo that he was supposed to do that now—cover for Tony, like he even knew what Tony could be busy with when the latter couldn’t even be bothered to associate with him on a subject matter other than Bucky’s rehabilitation.

“Oh yeah—of course, he is,” Bucky said, wistfully. And if that didn’t bother Steve, then he must have some kind of iron constitution or something.

Bucky left the observation deck to go to the main hall. Steve watched his friend put on the BARF nodes that were more than familiar to him now. The initiation sequence commenced and they were off to another jaunt into Bucky’s colorful past.

Contrary to Bucky’s high hopes for the day’s BARF session, it wasn’t a pre-war memory that was in store for them. It was another Winter Soldier memory as all of that week’s memories were.

The memory was of dispatching a couple—a husband and a wife. The setting was a subbasement parking area, and judging by the models of the cars resting, hunched like behemoths in the poor lighting, it was sometime in the late 70s or early 80s.

_“Who are you? Want do you want with us?” The petite lady, much younger than the accompanying tall and lanky man in a smart suit cut in the current style, asked warily. It was the dark muzzle and the gleaming metal arm that obviously threw her off, suspecting the worst._

_She had it right to suspect as the Winter Soldier whipped out a big enough hand gun with a silencer screwed on the barrel. “Please… No—please,” the lady begged, courageously stepping between the assassin and her husband. The Winter Soldier shot her twice in the head without batting an eyelash_

Steve looked away momentarily, mildly disturbed at the callousness with which the HYDRA asset had dispatched one of his targets. Steve observed Bucky’s flesh hand shaking where it was clenched on his side. If this disturbed Steve, he couldn’t even imagine what Bucky must feel like. Watching scenes like this was something neither Steve nor Bucky could ever get used to no matter how many BARF sessions they went through.

 _The well-dressed, lanky man fell on his knees beside the limp, lifeless body of his wife, crazed with grief. “Laura! No… You animal, you—“ The Winter Soldier didn’t give the man the opportunity to finish his sentence; the asset shot the man once on the crown of his head and unaffectedly observed the man crumple over the woman’s body._  

 _“Mishen' ubit,” the asset spoke in a voice garbled by the muzzle before walking away without a backward glance._

It was so clinical, so detachedly purposeful and unapologetic. Like it wasn’t just two living, breathing human beings that were dealt with but mere dog shit on the soles of the asset’s boots. 

 _“Who are you? Want do you want with us?”_  

This was another one of Bucky’s new-found habits when it came to using the BARF, Steve’s come to realize. Bucky liked to repeat the memory, study it, deconstruct it. Over and over. But he seldom changed a substantial amount of it. Steve wanted to ask why many times now, but he always hesitated, uncertain if Bucky was even going to grace him with an answer. Maybe Bucky, himself, didn’t know why. Maybe he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. 

 _“Mishen' ubit.”_  

 _“Who are you? Want do you want with us?”_  

That HYDRA scientist and his entire family that the Winter Soldier had dispatched in that Swiss ski resort; the diplomat who had begged for his life and whom the asset had dealt with by shooting him in the head twice and then pushing his car off a gorge; the chief of police from a Latin country that the Winter Soldier had shot using the victim’s own weapon; the hotshot defense lawyer who was killed, strangled in his own home, along with the lawyer’s young daughter who had accidentally witnessed her father’s murder; the group of activists in the middle of the desert who had their bus burned while they were all still inside; and now this, the young wife with her much older husband shot one after the other in quick succession in a parking garage. 

Such violent, cold-blooded deaths that Steve, had he not seen the very footage of it straight from the depths of Bucky’s memory bank, would not have believed Bucky to be capable of.  

 _“Laura! No… You animal, you—“_

_“—I’m sorry.”_  

Steve returned his eyes to the BARF projections on the panels, curious, as to how Bucky intended to change how this incident had played out. Bucky always apologized. Not in the unaffected, garbled voice of HYDRA’s fist, but in _Bucky’s_ voice, broken and choked with such emotion that was unmistakably regret and melancholy. 

 _The man with the gleaming metal arm, raised his hand to unclasp his muzzle and let it fall to the ground. “I’m so sorry, but I have to do this. I wish I don’t. I wish I could change things—really change things, but I can’t bring her back to life. I—“_

_“_ _I love her—loved her. She was my soulmate,” the lanky man lamented, looking at his wife’s lifeless face. “Do it. Kill me. So I can be with her again. But know this…” The man looked up to meet Bucky’s grief-stricken eyes, defiance burning in those tear-streaked orbs. “An animal like you is meant to die alone and unloved. You will never know what it feels like to love and be loved like Laura and I did. That is your curse… Do it; kill me… Kill me!”_

_Bucky shot him, all the while sobbing words of apology._  

Tony never did explain to Steve how the BARF worked exactly, how it was meant to give a subject catharsis and closure about a past they can no longer change, a past they were going to have to live with. But Steve could hazard a guess. The apologies and the little things like arranging the father and daughter’s bodies so they would be in a tender embrace in death, or taking out his anger and self-hatred on one too many HYDRA shadows who were the Winter Soldier’s insurance policy, by beating them up or shooting them in the knee caps, or trying to get help. Though none whatsoever that Bucky tried to do could make a difference now—not one jack shit bit of difference, it demonstrated to Bucky that the person he was _now_ was nothing like the mindless weapon that HYDRA had turned him into. It exemplified all the more clearly that _it wasn’t him_ who used to do those things—those heartless crimes—but HYDRA, pulling his strings. 

 _“Who are you? Want do you want with us?”_  

Bucky had a lot of trauma and bad memories to trawl through that there was no use dwelling on any one memory for very long, really. But Steve let him, never tried to stop him from recounting one memory over and over, changing it and repeating the modified version. Steve figured that it was Bucky’s way of dealing, and who was Steve to stop him from trying to find peace in these otherwise violent scenes from his past? 

 _“Laura! No… You animal, you—“_

_“—I’m sorry.”_  

 _“—Know this, an animal like you is meant to die alone and unloved. You will never know what it feels like to love and be loved like Laura and I did. That is your curse…”_  

After the third viewing of the modified memory, Bucky pulled the BARF nodes off, terminating the program. He didn’t look up to meet Steve’s eyes this time as he was wont to do after past sessions, trying to find assurance in Steve’s eyes that everything was going to be all right. He stood at the heart of the padded canvas floor for a long time before turning on his heel to leave the BARF hall.  

“Go after him,” Wanda urged, concern and not a little pity were etched in her eyes. Steve hurriedly left the observation deck to catch up to his friend. 

“Bucky!” Steve called after the former asset’s quickly retreating figure. “Buck!” But Bucky didn’t turn around to heed the call. Steve wanted to run after him, ask what was wrong, but thought better of it. He resolved to seek Bucky out after he’s given his friend time to be alone to contemplate on his new memories. He then decided to swing by his bedroom to fetch something he had been meaning to give Bucky for the longest time. Maybe, now was the perfect time to present it to his friend… 

Steve later found their patient on the rooftop helipad, seated on the floor, with his legs dangling on the side of the building, over the edge. 

“You left in quite a hurry. I didn’t know if I should run after you or give you some time to be by yourself,” Steve said by way of letting Bucky know that he’d been found out. “Are…you OK, Buck?”

“I don’t know, Stevie. I—uh, it’s hard to imagine being OK after seeing all these things, you know?” 

“I won’t presume to know how you feel because the way I came upon this century is hugely different from how you came upon it, and I don’t want to be condescending by pretending to know how you feel, when I really have no idea,” Steve confessed, exhaling a long, drawn out breath. 

With a bit of hesitation, Steve offered a wrapped package towards Bucky. “This is for you, by the way. I meant to send this to you as a Christmas gift, even if you were still asleep then. It’s a good thing I didn’t because giving this to you, now—is so much better.” 

Bucky accepted the package and gingerly opened it. It was a slim notebook—a scrapbook of sorts, containing Steve’s drawings of himself and Bucky from when they were young, through the years, before Bucky shipped out, during the war with the Howling Commandos, after Steve thought Bucky had died, some new ones of Bucky as Steve remembered him and one rough one from when Steve had found out Bucky was alive. The scrapbook also contained some old photos, memorabilia and keepsakes from before and during the war—there was that ticket from the Stark Expo 1943, a piece of paper where Bucky’s dog tags were proudly and painstakingly stenciled using a charcoal pencil, and an old letter from Bucky to Steve written also in 1943 before Bucky was first taken prisoner by HYDRA. 

“Oh my God,” Bucky murmured with a chortle, scanning the old letter on yellowed writing paper “Is this… _V-mail_? Jesus—how were you able to keep and preserve this?”

Steve replied with a tight smile, “it was in my trunk in the SSR headquarters. We probably have Peggy and Howard to thank for the, uh, preservation of whatever keepsakes I left behind when I went after the _Valkyrie_.”

And _Tony_. Steve also had Tony to thank for returning to him most of the things that Howard had kept from the war. Despite Tony’s less than stellar relationship with his father, the genius-billionaire still kept most of his old man’s things instead of razing the whole lot of it to the ground. 

“I know you think you’re such a horrible person, and this is hardly definitive evidence that you’re not, but I still hope that this—somehow—contributes to change your mind,” spoke Steve. 

Bucky read the yellowed letter in silence before speaking up, quoting from it, “’I’m with you ‘til the end of the line’?” 

“We used to always say that to each other—“ Steve began to narrate. 

“—but it was _me_ who’d said it to you first, and it just…stuck,” Bucky interrupted. It wasn’t a question but a statement. And Steve was struck dumb at Bucky’s accurate recollection. 

Steve could remember it like it was only yesterday: he was a skinny, sickly 10-year-old, and he was just fresh from a fistfight that left him half-draped over a trash can. It would’ve been loads worse if Bucky had not rescued him from it, by kicking the ass of the other guy—a much burlier 13-year-old. Bucky had chastised him for always getting his skinny ass into those kinds of messes. 

 _“Yeah well—I don’t ask for you save me. I didn’t need your help. I got that one handled,” Steve stubbornly retorted, rubbing the back of his hand against his reddening cheek and smearing caked mud all over it._

_“And if you come home and your Ma finds you beaten into a bloody pulp, she’ll scold your ear off, and you’ll regret getting into that fight to start with. So I got you out of it ‘cos that’s what I’m around for,” Bucky replied, sounding far wiser than his actual age._

_“I can take care of myself, you know,” said Steve._

_Bucky faced Steve with a fond expression on his face. “And_ I’m _saying you don’t need to go it alone ‘cos I’m with you ‘til the end of the line, pal,” Bucky said, squeezing Steve’s bony shoulder reassuringly._

“Yeah… you did,” Steve murmured back, just a tad louder than the wind whipping through their hair. Who knew, maybe that could’ve been the start of Steve loving Bucky in a way that their society forbade and punished? All that Steve was certain of was that it started—kindled— _something_ in him. And that never abated despite the passing of many, many years. 

“Maybe I’m not a completely horrible person, but this— _any_ of this,” Bucky began again, gesturing towards the scrapbook resting on the helipad floor beside him and the expanse of the Avengers Facility that had been his home for some time now. “Doesn’t change the fact that I’m responsible for all those terrible things.” 

“It _wasn’t_ you,” Steve insisted, turning defiant now. He wanted Bucky to realize it. That it was HYDRA and not him. “They were controlling you. You didn’t want to do all those things, and the way you’ve been modifying the memories is a testament to that—to the good person that you were— _are_.” 

“But I _did_ them, Steve! I did them anyway. Those people’s blood, they’re on _my_ hands— _my_ conscience, and I can’t _not_ take responsibility. It’s not right to foist their deaths on HYDRA when it was _me_ pulling the trigger.” Bucky said with melancholy. 

Steve remembered Bucky’s wrecked look in the quinjet as they flew to Siberia right after abandoning the rest of the Avengers on Steve’s faction in Germany. _“But I did it,”_ Bucky had said with the same sadness in his eyes. He didn’t know how else he could convince Bucky that he was a good man. Perhaps it was something Bucky would have to come to terms with on his own, and Steve would just have to stay by his side while he did. 

As always. 

“That lanky guy—he was a businessman, Benjamin Julius. He had it right, you know. Who _can_ love someone like me? I have all these things weighing my conscience down; I have all this trauma—so much _baggage_ … “ Bucky trailed off. “I am meant to die alone—“ 

“—Buck, that was your own subconscious speaking through the memory modification—,” interjected Steve, becoming argumentative. 

“—well, whoever it _was_ spoke it, Steve… They’re right!” 

Steve wanted to contradict Bucky more because it wasn’t true that no one could love Bucky. Because _Steve_ loved Bucky. He always had and he always would. 

“I have a right mind to leave the facility now and put all of you out of your misery from having to help a massive head case like me. Who’d want to help someone—love someone so broken?” 

 _‘I would. I do,’_ Steve wanted to tell Bucky. But he hesitated, not certain if they were both ready for this. Why couldn’t he just…blurt it out anyway? It was added assurance to Bucky that he wasn’t as unlovable and horrible a person as he thought he was. Yet Steve kept his mouth shut, biting his bottom lip. What was he waiting for? 

“Bucky, I…” Steve heaved a deep breath. “I… I—“ 

Good Lord— 

“I don’t believe that no one could love you. Hey—I’m your friend and _I_ always have. Loved you, I mean,” Steve said, playing it down by reassuring Bucky but, at the same time, skirting around the whole _‘I’ve always been in love with you with my whole heart and soul’_ confession. 

The time wasn’t right. Bucky was still dealing with a lot of things and he needed a good support system right now. He needed _friends_ —friends who could stand by him while he dealt with his trauma and who wouldn’t get tired of trying to convince him that he was a good man, without the pressure of a romantic love confession hanging over their collective heads. 

Steve’s feelings could wait. He was used to waiting anyway. He could wait a few months or years more. Bucky was worth it. 

“It’s still pretty early on in your recovery process. Things will get better, Bucky; I’m sure of it,” Steve guaranteed with a thin-lipped smile at his friend. He took Bucky’s clenched fist in his and squeezed. “I’ll always be here for you.” 

“’Til the end of the line?” 

“’Til the end of the line.” And more. 

-0-0-0- 

If Steve thought Bucky was going to ease up on the BARF by asking for a postponement of the next session after what had happened the last time, he was mistaken because Bucky was just as keen to head to the BARF hall that morning, asking Steve if they could go immediately after breakfast. 

“I don’t know—I just got a good feeling about today,” Bucky answered Steve’s unspoken query about his eagerness. 

When the pair of super soldiers got to the BARF hall, they were treated to the sight that was Tony Stark, standing hunched over banks of computer screens with absolute focus on his face. 

Steve realized for the nth time that there really was something undeniably mesmerizing about Tony when he was focused like a laser on a project. 

“Hey Tony,” Bucky greeted, a broad smile lighting up his face. 

“Barnes,” Tony acknowledged with a small nod. “Steve.” Tony turned to acknowledge him, which both surprised and threw Steve off. Tony acknowledged _him_. Did that just happen? 

“OK—how do I persuade you to call me _Bucky_? I mean, you call Steve by his first name,” observed Bucky with a slight quirk to the corners of his lips. 

“That’s ‘cause I’ve been acquainted with Cap longer,” pointed Tony out, giving his attention back to his computer screens. His fingers started flying over the keyboards again. “Give it a couple more _years_ and I just _might_ warm up to the idea of calling you by your preferred name. The operative word being _might_.” 

Bucky actually chuckled at that. Steve thought he might have just imagined it, but Bucky actually _chuckled_. 

“Right. That’s fixed,” Tony proclaimed, straightening up. “FRIDAY—alert me for any more coding anomalies. That update should make the program self-sustaining now.” 

“ _Affirmative, Sir._ ” 

Tony made for the door of the BARF hall to leave. 

“Hey, you’re—you’re leaving already?” Bucky asked, his visage contorting from its earlier pleasure to concern. 

“Yeah there was just a bit of a technical glitch, but I’ve fixed it already so… I think I’m gonna go now,” Tony said, gesturing towards the door. 

“Oh… OK,” Bucky conceded. Steve noticed how his friend looked crestfallen now compared to a few moments ago when he seemed so energized to find _Tony_ in the BARF hall. What was happening? Did Steve miss something? But Bucky’s face was re-schooled back to neutrality so fast that Steve again thought he might have just read Bucky’s expression wrong. 

“Hey—um—Tony!” Bucky called towards the engineer’s retreating figure. “About that offer to go to your workshop for the help I requested from you, does, um, does the offer still stand, by any chance?” Bucky asked, bashful. 

Tony, momentarily, turned on his heel towards the pair of them again and said, “yeah sure, it still does. I’m working on something that I’d like for you to see, so come by whenever you’re free.” Righting himself, the engineer vanished through the BARF hall door and was gone. 

“O-kaaay,” Bucky said more to himself than to the person he was just in conversation with, who had already left. Dusting off the fingers in his flesh hand as a magician would, he smiled towards Steve again and moved towards the table where the BARF nodes were to prepare for that day’s session. 

It was while Steve was making his way towards the observation deck that the Captain realized what had gone down in the BARF hall between Tony and Bucky: 

Bucky was _flirting_. 

Steve, of course, had seen enough instances of Bucky flirting with someone that he could easily tell when it was happening. And Bucky was flirting earlier. With _Tony Stark_ , no less! 

He was, without a doubt, disturbed by that, all right. The _why_ he was disturbed, though, was a tad tougher to make sense of. Was Steve disturbed because Bucky was flirting with Tony or was he disturbed because Tony seemed to be more comfortable with Bucky than Tony was with _him_? 

It was the same feeling he had right outside the board room that time that he was first privy to Tony’s invitation to Bucky to go to the workshop. Steve felt a bit resentful that Tony and Bucky were getting along while Tony could barely even look at him or hold a conversation with him. 

Steve once told himself that the reason he went back to the compound and stubbornly stayed in the compound was to fix things with Tony, but now fixing things with Tony took a backseat again because of Bucky’s rehabilitation. 

As he looked on while the BARF’s initiation sequence commenced, Steve resolved, then and there, that if he felt aggrieved about the whole set-up—between Tony, Bucky and himself, then maybe he really ought to do something proactive about his relationship with the younger Stark that was still a far cry from the friends/teammates/allies that they used to be. 

Giving Tony a wide berth so he could cool off proved ineffective, so now, it was time for Steve to re-strategize.


	11. 11. BUCKY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky gets a new cybernetic arm. Steve is doubtful. Bucky reassures his friend that it's what he wants. He wants to do something for Tony to say thanks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY Y'ALL, I'M ALIIIIIIIIVE!!!! I'm back and I am excited to post this new installment to this story that I've neglected for--what--two months, maybe more? But I hope that with this new chapter and the next chapters to follow which will be back to our regular posting schedule, you will come to forgive me.
> 
> I am posting a day early (remember, I usually post on Fridays?) because we have lots of errands to run tomorrow and I probably won't have time. So here you go... REMEMBER that I still adore your feedback so Comment and Kudos away, my dears. Please let me know of any issues and I will be glad to rectify them.
> 
> BTW, Tony sings because RDJ sings...
> 
> Enjoy, my lovelies!!!  
> \---

****Bucky’s eyes were wide as saucers when the elevator doors opened to Tony’s subterranean workshop. The former asset couldn’t help but be impressed because he had always been fascinated with technology even before he had joined up in the war. He could feel his mouth fall open as well with the sheer amazement at the space he was setting foot in. It looked like a whole, new, different world with machines he couldn’t recognize, diagrams, charts and figures in blue light that floated on thin air, welding sparks, and robots. Honest-to-God, _actual_ robots that beeped, wheeled along and fetched various tools to hand over to their master.

And he’d thought FRIDAY was more than enough to make his eyes bug out in complete awe. How wrong he was.

It was a little past three in the morning and Bucky, as usual, couldn’t sleep, so he thought it was the perfect time to make use of Tony’s standing invitation to drop by the workshop to see what the latter was working on. He had asked FRIDAY if it was a good time, and the AI confirmed that, indeed, Tony was in his workshop and ready to receive Bucky.

Bucky had hopped to with a veritable spring in his step.

He was correct to be excited, all right, because the place was _amazing_!

“Heya Barnes,” Tony greeted, accepting a tool proffered to him by one of his bots before standing up from a wheeled stool and giving Bucky a thin-lipped smile. “Didn’t get lost finding the place, did you?”

“No,” Bucky replied, suddenly apprehensive. “FRIDAY was very helpful. So, um—you wanted to show me something?” He took the direct-to-the-point approach because he didn’t want to impose his company on Tony. That way, Tony could show him what the engineer wanted to show him, and Bucky could get out of his hair immediately. But if the choice were entirely up to Bucky, he wanted to stay in the workshop for as long as he could, ask Tony what each and every machine there did and watch the engineer do his thing. He had seen Iron Man in action in the airport tarmac in Germany and in various news reels since he’d woken up this time around, but he wanted to acquaint himself more with the armor.

And with its creator, of course.

“Eager, aren’t we?” Tony observed. “Don’t you want a tour of the place first?” He offered with an imperial raise of a well-defined eyebrow.

Bucky’s eyes must have gotten wider if at all possible because the corners to Tony’s lips gave a twitch of amusement. “You’d do that? Really?” Bucky asked like a curious but keen child would.

Tony chortled. _Actually_ chortled at that. “Sure. Might as well,” he remarked. He cocked his head towards the northeast part of the workshop as a signal to Bucky to follow him so the former soldier could be shown around. Bucky made sure to walk a step and a half behind the engineer so as not to invade personal space or to seem too enthusiastic. The last thing he wanted was to annoy his host.

There were so many things to see! The entire subterranean space was a treasure trove of technological marvels that only used to be science fiction for people like Bucky. Tony gestured towards and explained the equipment, tools and knickknacks they walked by as uncomplicatedly as he could, using mostly layman’s terms for Bucky to be able to appreciate. And every time Bucky lingered on any one equipment, Tony expounded on the more scientific intricacies of the piece of machinery that, for his part, Bucky tried to grasp. Sometimes, though, he wasn’t very successful at understanding the more scientific mumbo-jumbo and, Bucky guessed, it probably showed on his face. But Tony never just stopped explaining dismissively, always trying a different approach to try to explain to Bucky.

The former asset appreciated it, too—Tony’s patience and the way that he exuded such passion for his work, that it made his small smiles seem less forced, the glow in his honey-gold eyes genuine, and his present disposition contagious.

Their exchanges about the workshop’s array of interesting equipment and Tony’s current projects were about the most they’ve ever said to each other since Bucky’d woken up. That would also make this current encounter the longest they’ve ever had to date. And if Bucky were being completely honest with himself, this would also have to be the longest he’s ever spoken to anyone on the compound that didn’t have anything to do with his dark past, his rehabilitation or his being not right in the head; it was damn refreshing!

“I’ve got a question,” Bucky segued, stopping before a particularly interesting piece of machinery the purpose and function of which flew right over his head just as Tony was explaining it. It was also the perfect vantage point to see Tony’s half-open cupboard of junk food, and Bucky then realized the import of his 3 a.m. encounters with Tony and why the recovering amnesiac had never seen Tony join them for meals: Tony was living off of his junk food stash.

“Shoot.” Tony gave a clipped nod, on the verge of moving on to an adjacent project.

“You built all of these marvelous machines, sometimes from scratch—and these contraptions must have taken time to do. How do you even have time for anything else?” Bucky asked with furrowed brows. Everything was impressive, of course, but Bucky was just wondering that with all of these awesome things Tony Stark’s come up with, how did the man even have time for something as mundane as sleeping or eating or just shooting the breeze? “I mean— do you even get any _sleep_ at all? And do you, maybe, have something against _home-cooked meals_?”

Tony countered with another imperial raise of an eyebrow. If he was offended by how familiar Bucky had seemed, calling him out on that, he didn’t show it. “Well, genius _never_ sleeps so I rarely do,” replied Tony with a casual shrug. “And cooking and eating home-cooked food take too much time and effort.

“Anyway, deconstructing my sleep cycle and eating habits is not the reason I called you down here, Barnes,” pointed the engineer out, motioning for Bucky to follow him as he weaved through the pieces of equipment and spare parts scattered about the place. “I’ve thought about what you requested, and I started to put something together…”

Even though Bucky was half-hoping that Tony would help him with the issue of his mechanical arm, the fact that Tony actually _deigned_ to work on his request at all still surprised Bucky. And although he hasn’t seen steel plating nor screw of the thing, he began to feel grateful as well. Tony might have designed a backhoe bucket for his arm for all he cared, and he’d still feel grateful.

Tony ushered him to step closer towards a table top cylinder display inside of which a mechanical left arm was vertically propped, fingers pointing downward, on a metal stand. The articulated plating on the surface gleamed and shone in the LED lights of Tony’s workshop like it was forged by the gods themselves. The arm mimicked the contours of a mildly muscled human appendage to a T that it looked like a real arm apart from the fact that it was silver. It was sleek yet seemed powerful, propped there like a slumbering predator.

But what Bucky probably liked the most about it was that it didn’t have a five-pointed red star painted on the upper arm.

With Bucky gawking, speechless, at the cybernetic arm on display, Tony plowed on with his spiel: “it’s just a prototype, so I thought we could try to fit it on you right now, so you can get a feel for it and let me know of any glitches or problems with how it handles,” explained the engineer. “It’s going to need frequent adjustments for now, but I’m looking to improve on it so that you can make the adjustments yourself and you’d only need occasional upgrades.”

Bucky kept on gaping at the beautiful piece of machinery in front of him. He didn’t know where to find the words to describe how beautiful the machine was to him, how excited he was to try it, how grateful he was to Tony for it. “Holy smokes… It’s _fantastic_ , Tony,” Bucky, finally finding his voice, praised, a bit breathlessly, and realizing that he probably sounded like a pre-pubescent girl heavily crushing on the man, he cleared his throat and changed tack. “I mean, it’s…it’s great—thank _you_ …very much.”

“Don’t thank me yet until you’ve tried it,” warned Tony with humor in his bright brown eyes. “For all you know, I’ve programmed it to choke you in your sleep or something.”

“It’s a good thing I never sleep then,” Bucky answered, deadpan but it came out cheekier than he would have let himself sound.

The corners of Tony’s lips twitched in ill-concealed amusement, and, pursing his lips, he nodded once and countered: “great—another _smart-ass_ … How about if we just get to fitting the arm on you, and _then_ you can thank me?”

Bucky nodded once at that with his mouth in a thin line, looking self-conscious for the wholly unintended smart-alecky retort. He knew that it amused more than irked Tony though, and that knowledge soothed him a bit.

Tony led him to a clear patch of floor where the engineer further motioned for him to take a seat on a swiveling, wheeled stool. Bucky watched wordlessly as Tony mulled over a table of various precision tools, stuffed some of them in the back pocket of his jeans, and grabbed a screwdriver for last to twirl with his dexterous engineer’s fingers. Nudging another wheeled stool closer to Bucky, Tony planted his person on the seat before giving the other brunette a smoldering and questioning look.

“May I?”

Bucky just nodded again, not trusting himself to speak. Why was his heart beating so fast anyway? This was just _Tony_. Bucky hardly knew Tony, and Bucky’s was the hand that murdered Tony’s parents, and they nearly killed each other in Siberia just a year ago. Were his nerves because of distrust? Fear, maybe? Cageyness? Or _something_ else—something completely alien, hence, indescribable to him?

Tony lowered those arresting eyes of his to Bucky’s shoulder and hiked up the empty left sleeve of the shirt that Bucky was wearing until the stump where his metal arm used to be was exposed. Taking the screwdriver to his mouth to bite it between his teeth, Tony deftly removed the sock-like covering at the end of the stump and studied the mishmash of wires, metal plating and mechanisms left behind when the arm was blown sky high. By Tony’s chest reactor, no less.

The engineer’s brows furrowed and, taking the screwdriver from between his teeth, pursed his lips in concentration. Bucky could see every nuance of Tony’s expressions while studying what was left of the mechanical arm because the former couldn’t tear his eyes off the latter.

There was something mesmerizing about Tony Stark when he was hard at work. His genius was practically shining out of his honey-gold eyes, framed by thick, dark and long eyelashes. Bucky had never seen anything quite so riveting to watch.

Straightening up from being hunched towards the metal stump, Tony called, “DUM-E, bring the cybernetic arm over here, please. U—help your brother. Don’t drop the thing or I’m screwing one of your arms to Barnes instead, and don’t think I won’t do it.”

Bucky found himself sporting a smirk of amusement at that. Tony sounded like a strict father, but he couldn’t keep his fondness for his robots from bleeding through his half-threats.

The wheeled robotic arms, in tandem, gingerly brought the cased cybernetic arm over, beeping among themselves like they were holding some kind of conversation. After depositing the case on the floor by Tony’s leg, the two robots turned to Bucky and, closing and opening their arms and cocking their gears every which way, beeped at him both curiously and excitedly. Bucky, unable to understand the beeping, still chuckled with inquiring eyes at the robots’ antics.

Reaching out to one of the robotic arms, the engineer gave it an affectionate pat.

“They _are_ amazing,” complimented Bucky, referring to the robots, which have returned to playing with and beeping at each other. “When did you make them?”

“I made DUM-E two summers before I entered MIT—I was…maybe thirteen, I think. On my first year at MIT, I couldn’t stand DUM-E’s lamenting beeps of boredom any longer, so I made him a brother, U—so he wouldn’t be bored whenever I was in class.”

Bucky followed it up with: “and FRIDAY—when did you build her?”

“You…are just a bundle of curious questions today, aren’t you?” Tony observed but his eyes never left the innards of the arm stump he was studying. It was a good thing, too, or he would’ve seen Bucky blush and that would’ve been a lot harder to explain. “I built my first AI while I was still at MIT and that was JARVIS—you never met him, unless you count Vision. I…started coding FRIDAY and my other AIs around 2000 while everyone else was paranoid about the Millennium bug—I can tell by your blinking that I’m not making much sense to you…”

No, Tony wasn’t. But Bucky wanted him to keep talking anyway. Bucky liked his voice. He had always liked Tony’s voice since Bucky had woken up to the man singing.

Bucky was still intently looking at Tony while the latter fiddled and tinkered with what was left of the wiring and plating of Bucky’s HYDRA-made cybernetic arm, that when Tony briefly looked up from his repairing work, their eyes met. “What?” Tony asked, pointedly staring into Bucky’s eyes and not looking away.

“Hmm?” He had not realized how absorbed he was in his study of the engineer. He was abashed at having been caught, but he didn’t want to appear even more so by looking away from Tony first.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Tony asked, question in his eyes.

“I…I was just wondering if fitting the arm will hurt,” Bucky reasoned, inwardly hoping against hope that his excuse didn’t sound as feeble to Tony as it did to him. “I don’t want to hurt you if I’m accidentally triggered or something.”

Tony shrugged and cocked his head in understanding. “Valid point,” he conceded, continuing, “do you think if I describe to you what I’m doing, it’ll help distract you?”

And Bucky felt something warm settle in the pit of his stomach at Tony’s offer. Well… he _did_ think that Tony’s voice was remarkable after all. The man could read off the damn phonebook for hours and Bucky wouldn’t mind listening to that. It was soothing for Bucky, and he didn’t even know why he found it so.

“That would be helpful, yeah,” agreed Bucky, averting his eyes from Tony’s to look at the relics of HYDRA’s handiwork.

Tony started talking again, keeping a running commentary of every phase of fitting Bucky’s new arm. And Bucky found that he didn’t mind the small twinges of pain shooting up his shoulder every once in a while as long as Tony kept talking to him. He bowed his head closer to the web of wires and screws and mechanical parts of the stump that he could see, once or twice, and all that time, he stared at Tony Stark from out of the corner of his eye and listened to the man tell him about neural connections, mechanical components-biological parts interface, simulation of sensations, real-time response and hairline sensitivity without all of the clunky mechanisms, doing away with all the outdated wires, the more well-balanced feel of the appendage that wouldn’t demand any posture compensation on the part of the user, and other assurances and upgraded features of the new Stark-tech arm.

“The new arm is made of vibranium. Like Cap’s shield.” Tony segued, dismissively. “You have that in common.”

Bucky was pleasantly surprised. “How did you convince King T’Challa to ship you some?”

“I didn’t,” admitted Tony. “I synthesized some, myself. Much like the vibranium that I use for Iron Man’s reactor core.” The engineer scanned his finger on the cylinder case of the new cybernetic arm, plucked the technological marvel off the metal stand and fiddled with the gears where the arm was supposed to connect to the stump, alternating between poking the arm with a screwdriver and biting the same screwdriver between his teeth.

“Then I have something in common with _you_ , too,” Bucky casually said. “Right?”

Tony’s eyes bored into his again. There was something inscrutable but vaguely questioning in the way the engineer’s brown eyes flashed in the LED lights of the workshop. Like he, himself, was trying to find an ulterior motive to Bucky for saying what he just did.

“Sure,” the slighter-built brunette acceded. But Bucky could tell that something had changed after that. Tony’s expressions became more closed off, and he turned colder somewhat. Breathing deeply and without another word or amused chuckle directed at Bucky, Tony stood up from his wheeled stool with the Stark-tech cybernetic arm in hand and went to the heart of his workshop, where there was a bigger patch of clean space and a greater concentration of blinking lights and luminescent grid lines on the floor. “FRIDAY, commence automated suit assembly mode 4. Just like we practiced, sweetheart.”

“ _T minus sixty seconds to assembly,_ ” confirmed FRIDAY, and the glowing grid lines on the floor shifted and hydraulic arms popped out like dandelions from the ground.

Tony relinquished the cybernetic arm to a hydraulic mechanism by sliding it into a slot until it locked. He then turned to look at Bucky and cocked his head in invitation. “Time to put Humpty Dumpty together again.

“I could fit the arm manually, myself. But to go the automated way is better—less painful for you, more precise and quicker, too,” relayed Tony, motioning for Bucky to take a specific position on the sensor-riddled floor. Tony still stood several arms’ length away from Bucky to describe to him the rest of the process without getting in the way of his assembly machines.

This time, though, Bucky had tuned him out. One thing suddenly stood clear and stark in Bucky now: Tony’s decided to go the automated way to fit the arm as quickly as possible and get rid of Bucky. There was a gnawing feeling at the base of Bucky’s skull that the change in Tony’s mood was because of something he said, so he started to replay their earlier exchange in his head.

On the one hand, the pre-occupation helped because Bucky had ceased to mind the more intense twinges of pain as the hydraulic mechanism connected his new arm to the less jumbled nubbin of his old one. He was still deep in his review of his interaction with Tony for the last hour that he didn’t notice when the automated assembly hydraulic arms had retracted back to the floor and he already had his brand spankin’ new arm hanging beside his torso.

“Barnes… Hey _Barnes_ ,” Tony called in a sing-song voice until Bucky snapped out of the depth of his thoughts to return to the now. “You OK? You spaced out there for a while? Are you in pain?”

“No,” Bucky answered truthfully. To be honest, he hadn’t noticed when the arm was already connected. It was so lightweight, and Tony was right in that he didn’t feel any pressure in his posture—on his lower back or his clavicle—to compensate for the weight of the new appendage. He studied it—the fingers, the palm, the wrist, the forearm; he tried closing his hand into a fist and opening it—close, open, close, open. He bent it at the elbow and marveled at how it handled like a dream. Touching the metal arm’s palm with the fingers of his flesh hand, he actually _felt_ the warmth of his flesh fingers.

Feeling suddenly overwhelmed, the workshop around him slowly blurred as Bucky felt the sting of pooling tears in his eyes. He didn’t deserve this; he didn’t deserve Tony’s relentless help like this after what he’d done. Tony didn’t have to do shit for him, but Bucky knew—could recognize—that he was slowly but surely getting his life back—all that HYDRA had taken from him—because of Tony Stark.

That irrespective of Tony’s statement to Bucky that one time—that he wasn’t doing this magnanimously or for the benefit of the former assassin but for his own redemption, Bucky knew that he _owed_ Tony. That without Tony’s help, he’d probably still be in cryostasis, afraid of his own mind, regretful of the life he’s lived so far, dreading what he was capable of. And wishing he’d just died all those years ago.

“Thank you,” Bucky breathlessly murmured. “Thank you, Tony.” He closed his metal hand into a fist to try to tamp down on his strong emotions. He really didn’t want to have to break down in front of the engineer because he thought he had been doing enough of that already ever since he’d woken up.

But there was just _something_ about Tony. Something that made Bucky want to get to know the engineer more. Something that made Bucky want to tell him things he was supposed to be uncomfortable telling complete strangers. Something that made Bucky want to be on the receiving end of those penetrating, brown-eyed stares.

He craved for how Tony looked at him: like he was seeing Bucky exactly as he was now.

A complete 180 from how _Steve_ looked at him: like he was seeing just a _shade_ of the great James Buchanan Barnes—war hero and a good man. And that somewhere beneath the trauma and brainwashing, the old Bucky was still there.

Maybe the old Bucky was, but the person he was now felt so far detached from the old Bucky. The problem was, Steve refused to hear any of it for the Captain was still convinced that Bucky was blameless, that he was a good person through and through, that it was only HYDRA that fucked him up.

Tony harbored no such illusions about who Bucky Barnes was supposed to be. It didn’t matter if Bucky did or didn’t have free will at the time; Tony Stark knew only one Bucky Barnes—the man who had killed his parents. And every scrutinizing stare from the genius oozed that self-same knowledge.

A part of Bucky still wondered what Tony was possibly getting out of helping him, then again, a part of him was just plain thankful. That despite their not-so-stellar history, here Tony was, throwing Bucky a towrope. Not to be the _old Bucky_ but to be the _Bucky he chose to be_.

“You’re welcome,” Tony simply replied, neutral expression firmly on his face. “Don’t be afraid to test it out—put it through its paces. Train with the rest of the team, lift weights, try your aim, do some needlework if you feel like it. Let me know how it handles, yeah?” Tony started gathering his tools to stow them away, and Bucky knew that they have come to the end of their current encounter. He was being dismissed and politely told to get lost.

“I will,” Bucky assured, flexing the metal digits in awe again. “This is—this is really swell.”

Tony answered with a nod and a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“So…I guess I’ll just…see you around then,” Bucky said, tentative, making a beeline for the pneumatic doors that would lead him out of the workshop.

Tony just hummed in response that time before completely turning his back to Bucky.

Just as Bucky was leaving, he heard parting beeping from DUM-E who was busy shoving a scoop filled to bursting with junk food foil wrappings through the main garbage chute of the workshop. It suddenly occurred to him how he could thank Tony with more than just words, how he could make it up to the engineer for everything he’s been doing to help Bucky.

And if what he was thinking of doing was going to endear him to Tony, too, and maybe provide him the chance to get to know the other brunette more, then that wouldn’t be too bad at all.

Bucky couldn’t help but grin as he exited the workshop.

-0-0-0-

Bucky shuddered awake, thrashing in bed and heaving great lungfuls of air. His face was slick with sweat and his flesh arm was riddled with goosebumps. He knew he had been dreaming of something about his past—something terrible—as most of his dreams were since he had woken up in the Avengers facility. Thankfully, he couldn’t remember what exactly the dream had been about now.

However, his inability to remember didn’t stop him from being on the verge of a panic attack.

“ _Your name is James Buchanan Barnes, former Sergeant who’d served in the 107th during the Second World War. Born on March 10, 1917. You are currently in the Avengers facility in upstate New York. Please try to calm down, Sergeant. You have elevated blood pressure, accelerated heart rate and irregular breathing patterns. I believe you’re experiencing a panic attack. Alerting Captain Rogers right now,_ ” FRIDAY trailed off from the spiel she’d started to assume during times like this.

“Wait— _don’t_ , FRIDAY,” Bucky muttered, trying to catch his breath. He tried gulping air in deeper to calm his racing heart. Palming his face, Bucky rid himself of whatever sleepiness remained and sat up in bed. He absent-mindedly kicked the covers that had tangled themselves around his legs and hesitated whether to get out of or stay in bed.

He’d resolved to crawl into bed, late, the night before, still in efforts to follow Steve’s advice to get some shut-eye at night. But the plan was really proving itself difficult to maintain because he always dreamed, and whenever he dreamed, he always woke up in cold sweat and on the brink of a panic attack. Like now.

Bucky needed to find a way to calm the hell down. He was getting tired of telling FRIDAY not to come tattling to Steve about his nighttime woes every damn time. And the idea of Steve fussing over him was anything but soothing.

Of late, there was only one thing that had been remotely calming to him…

“I’m—I’m all right. But…can you do me a favor?” Bucky asked with a feeble voice, uncertain if FRIDAY was going to indulge him on this particular request.

“ _You need only ask, Sergeant._ ”

“Can you show me footage of Tony singing?”

He cringed only because to his ears, his request was definitely cringe-worthy. He worried his lower lip, hoping against hope that FRIDAY wasn’t secretly judging him. Or worse, snitching to Tony about his peculiar request.

“ _Of course, Sir._ ” Bucky was breathing a relieved sigh even before he realized that he was.

A holo-screen appeared before Bucky where it didn’t take the latter three heartbeats to locate where footage-Tony was, crouched beneath the widespread Falcon EXO-9 wings, tinkering at something on the underside of the jetpack. Rock music played in the background. But despite the pounding music accompanying the man while he worked, it failed to drown out the melodious voice singing along with the music in the background.

“ _…through the storm, we reach the shore. You gave it all but I want more. And I'm waiting for you. With or without you. With or without you. I can't live…with or without you…_ ” Footage-Tony stood up from being hunkered down beneath the wings and walked, swaying and slightly shimmying on the balls of his feet in time to the beat of the song, to the table where his precision tools were splayed. “ _And you give yourself away… And you give yourself away… And you give, and you give, and you give yourself away… With or without you… With or without you…_ ”

Bucky was calm even before the song ended, so much so that he fell asleep again while the footage was playing. FRIDAY had to use her discretion to cut the feed after the former soldier had fallen right back to slumber.

Morning brought Bucky in the kitchen where Steve was already firing up the stove to cook breakfast. Bucky was in the best spirits he’d ever been as he looked on while Steve got busy pulling out foodstuffs from the fridge. The Captain, as usual, seemed like he had just come in from his morning run.

“Heya Buck—I was just about to ask FRIDAY where you were,” Steve greeted. “How do you feel about toast and sausages?”

“Awesome,” Bucky replied, plucking a banana from the fruit basket at the center of the table, peeling and eating it. “I just woke up,” he informed Steve with a good-natured smile as if he himself was disbelievingly happy of the fact.

“Yeah?” Steve seemed thrilled by the idea, too. “So you’re starting to get some sleep nights, huh? How’re you feeling?

“Better,” admitted Bucky. There was absolutely no need to inform Steve that sleeping nights for him was like pulling teeth, really. But, hey, he was going to count last night as a win, regardless. “I actually feel well-rested. You know, maybe the physical exertion helped.”

Following Tony’s advice to put the new cybernetic arm through its paces, Bucky actually joined the team’s training on the morning that the arm was fitted and the day after that, to the other Avengers’ surprise and awe. Although he was not yet cleared to handle weapons, and he, himself, was wary to, it couldn’t be denied that the new mechanical limb worked perfectly; it was tear-jerking.

“The arm still working OK?” Steve asked with an awkward smile that left much to be desired when it came to the warmth that his eyes were usually tinged with.

“Not just OK,” remarked Bucky. “This arm is bleeding edge awesome, Stevie! Tony is brilliant,” Bucky damn near prattled, bringing the arm up to bask in the rays of the morning sun streaming in through the windows to admire it for the nth time. “Fucking beautiful, I’m telling you.”

Steve didn’t react to that anymore. Bucky could feel that Steve was apprehensive about Bucky having a replacement cybernetic arm, and the latter could only guess as to his friend’s reasons: maybe Steve was reminded what it had once been good for; or maybe having the metal arm was contrary to the idea of getting his blameless Bucky back; or maybe he was suspicious of Tony’s ulterior motive for helping Bucky out this way. But whatever Steve’s reasons were, it couldn’t be denied that he was unenthusiastic about seeing the appendage attached to Bucky.

“I didn’t think Tony was going to help me by actually building one when I requested for him to,” Bucky continued, pensive. If Steve was somehow of the opinion that the mechanical arm was finagled upon him, then Bucky ought to set the record straight. He _wanted_ a new arm. If Bucky was going to be the poor, unfortunate, brainwashed soul, he sure as hell wasn’t going to be the useless, dead weight amputee, on top of that. He was going to fight tooth and nail to feel remotely human, and to feel remotely human, he was going to need all of his limbs accounted for.

“You actually _asked_ Tony to build you a new arm?” Steve asked, surprised and a bit disbelieving.

“Yeah,” confirmed Bucky. “And he’d come through with one helluva machine right here. I can’t thank him enough. I was thinking of giving him something or doing something for him, but what _do_ you give or do for a person who already has everything anyway?” Bucky attempted to pick Steve’s brain. His friend, after all, presumably knew Tony better than he did. He sidled up to the kitchen counter to fire up the juicer for some fresh fruit juice, having finished his banana.

“Ummm,” Steve began, seemingly drawing a blank. “I really don’t know what Tony might need—maybe you should try asking Rhodes?”

“Good idea,” Bucky responded, wanting to make Steve feel involved somehow even though Bucky didn’t really need to ask anyone else as he’d already decided what to do for Tony to express his deepest thanks.

About three hours later, after breakfast with the team was over and done with, Bucky stood in front of the elevator, carrying a tray of steak and cheese sandwich and a thermos of coffee which was prepped to Tony’s specifications based on FRIDAY’s instructions. “FRIDAY, is Tony busy? I’m hoping I could take a sandwich down to him in the workshop.”

“ _One moment, Sergeant. Allow me to ask Sir to grant you access,_ ” FRIDAY advised.

After what felt like more than one moment, FRIDAY piped up again, “ _I’m sorry, Sergeant, but Mr. Stark’s put me on mute. He is quite busy._ ”

Bucky fought the feeling of disappointment burgeoning in the pit of his stomach. He really, really wanted to do this for Tony. And he happened to have some free time on his hands right then because they didn’t have a BARF session. He didn’t want to have to explain to any Avenger what he was doing standing in front of the elevator with a tray of food and looking undeniably crestfallen but resolute in his bid to feed his benefactor. “How about if I stay in the elevator until you ask Tony to admit me to the workshop? Your boss needs to eat sometime, Fry, so how about giving me a hand here?”

“ _I cannot agree with you more about Mr. Stark’s need for proper sustenance. But the elevator is used in common with everyone in the facility, Sergeant. It would be in poor taste to shut it down until Mr. Stark admits you into the workshop,_ ” FRIDAY reasoned, but offered, “ _but I can grant you access in the north stairwell of the workshop leading to the fire exit, and you can stay there for as long as you want while we find the right time to request for Sir to admit you._ ”

That was good enough for Bucky and he made sure to tell FRIDAY that.

He was hunched in on himself, sitting on the stairs in the fire exit with the tray of food beside him, when, to pass the time, he made another peculiar request to Tony’s AI. “Fry, can you tell me more about Tony? You know…more information about him, like…what age was he when he first started to build things? What was his first invention? How many machines has he built from scratch? You know…things like that,” Bucky clarified, feeling his face grow warm with embarrassment.

FRIDAY, bless her, was only too happy to share such tidbits about her creator to sate Bucky’s curiosity.

Apparently, Anthony Edward Stark built his first circuit board at the age of 4, built his first basic robot at 8, and DUM-E—like he’d said—at 13; he wrote the code for his first self-sustaining program at 16; he’s built from scratch or improved on close to 300 machines, not counting the Iron Man suits, and has patents all over the world for close to a hundred of these inventions.

It was after about half an hour learning more about Tony Stark that the AI interrupted her report with: “ _you may now enter the workshop, Sergeant. Sir has granted you access._ ”

A smile broke on Bucky’s face as he stood up, dusting off his jeans. “Thanks, Fry.” He leaned over to retrieve the tray of food and prepared to return to Tony’s hallowed sanctum, hopeful that his chosen measure to thank the man would only bring Bucky that much closer to having Tony Stark as a friend.


	12. 12. TONY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky comes to the workshop bearing a sandwich and coffee. Will Tony accept? And what does Steve want now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Friday and we have another update! Yipee!!! And it's a week before Christmas y'all! Are you guys all excited? Boxing Day and the Day after New Year's were declared holidays here in our country so we get to have an extended holiday and NO WORK!!!! YEEESSS!!! 
> 
> Anyway, I'd like to take this opportunity to remind the readers/commenters that I appreciate you pointing out to me the legal intricacies/legalese stuff I've decided to forego in the story. If I wanted a law-laden piece of lit, I'd've written me an academic book. But as it is this is fiction\--FANFICTION, in fact. So you have to give me creative license to do away with all these legalistic details. Otherwise, if I include all of them, explain every single one of my assumptions, this story is gonna be even lengthier. I get enough dry legalistic shit from my job, I don't want my hobby to be chock full of it also. And really, the itsy-bitsy details of them getting imprisoned and on what grounds, whether or not there was an initial hearing or if the rule of law was followed and what the process is for amending and ratifying anew a document like the Sokovia Accords does not lend to the story I want to tell. This is a problematic love story involving Tony, Steve and Bucky and their journey to forgiveness, self-discovery and emotional redemption. The process of the Avengers' exoneration need not be discussed in detail because really, people... *rolls eyes and shakes head* 
> 
> That being said, I'd still like to request for you to point out typos, grammatical errors and inconsistencies in the story. And I would like to hear from you via the Comments box so I can pick your brains, know your thoughts about the development of the story, etc.
> 
> ALWAYS remember in reading an emeraldine087 fanfic that the FEELS come first, and remember to ENJOY!  
> \---

****The Avengers’ resident mechanic and genius was in another one of his zones. It was a blessing in disguise slipping into this current headspace to get his mind off his immensely awkward encounter with Barnes, fitting the Stark-designed cybernetic arm. He had even put FRIDAY on mute, preferring to fill the workshop with loud death metal music while he worked on the contingency of another—more secure—power source for the main War Machine armor.

Once or twice, he would look up from being hunched over his work to glance at one panel of a holo-screen showing live feed of the facility’s grounds where the flying members of the team were in their twice-a-week training. Present were the Scarlet Witch, War Machine—using his back-up armor, Falcon, and Vision, and they were being put through the usual wringer by Black Widow and Cap.

Tony knew he should at least attend one of these infernal training sessions some time; Rhodey had emphasized as much, considering that he was still very much an active member of the team. But he had reservations, and he had reservations because—duh—Cap was still the one running the show in these training sessions, and Tony’d really prefer not to have to work too closely with Steve at the moment, unless it had something to do with Barnes’ rehabilitation.

This self-same reservation, however, couldn’t explain why he had a live feed of the training session playing on a blank wall of his workshop while he was supposedly hard at work. He’d like to think that he was creeping up on the rest of the team’s training like so because he wanted to keep an eye on Rhodey and see how his best friend was doing now that he was completely recovered from a major spinal injury.

But even _he_ knew that it was utter drivel.

He perfectly knew why he was surveilling the team. It was _accepting_ why he was surveilling the team that Tony was having some problems with. His mile-wide masochistic streak would shame a cilice-wearing ascetic monk, all right.

 _Fuck_. So much for being in the zone…

With an irritated ‘tsk’, he cut the live feed on his holo-screen just as the training was coming to an end.

“FRIDAY, what’s on my plate after these upgrades to the War Machine armor?” Tony asked, effectively un-muting his AI and lowering the eardrum-damaging volume of his music.

“ _You have the monthly maintenance and upgrade of the facility’s satellite surveillance equipment, Sir._ ”

“Schedule it sometime next week during Vision’s shift in the Command Center or whenever the team has training. I want the least possible interference to the facility’s day-to-day activities as well as to the maintenance procedures to be undertaken,” commanded Tony, tilting his head to the side to scrutinize the visual aesthetics of the upgrades he had recently installed on the main War Machine armor.

“ _Duly noted,_ ” FRIDAY replied and continued, “ _by the way, Sir, Sergeant Barnes is in the north stairwell, requesting for entrance to the workshop. He’s been waiting there for over half an hour._ ”

“What does he want now?” Tony asked, exasperated. He hasn’t even recovered from his last stressful meeting with the former soldier-turned-mercenary and here was the man again. Tony just simply couldn’t catch a damn break. He facepalmed in frustration.

“ _He’s come to ask something important._ ” Tony didn’t like it that FRIDAY was being deliberately vague about Barnes’ agenda. The last thing he needed was for his own creation to conspire with the other facility residents against him.

“Fine. Access granted,” Tony conceded, resolutely clenching his jaw. The sooner he dealt with Barnes, the faster Tony could dispatch the former HYDRA asset.

“Back so soon, Barnes,” called Tony out, not looking at the newcomer as he entered through the stairwell. The genius’ attention was still commanded by a War Machine component he was currently tinkering with. “Problem with the arm?”

“Oh no, no. No problem with the arm; it’s working perfectly,” Barnes informed. “I came to bring you a sandwich and coffee, but they’ve gone cold now so… clearly, I didn’t think this through enough…” Barnes sounded sheepish.

It was then that Tony tore his eyes from the armor piece to stare at Barnes, thinking he must have misheard the other man. At the same time, DUM-E poked at the visitor and opened and closed the pronged arm, gesturing towards a microwave that sat on a counter at the far corner of the workshop. Seeing the microwave, Barnes, apparently, didn’t need to be told twice and made his way towards it.

“I’m sorry, what?” Tony called after the other man’s back. He _must_ have misheard the Sergeant. But that didn’t explain why Barnes was being a busybody, pouring a cup of coffee from a thermos, placing the cup and a plate of some sandwich inside the microwave, and accepting assistance from DUM-E in inputting the timer on the machine.

“I brought you coffee and a steak and cheese sandwich,” Barnes said in a matter-of-fact tone as if it was something that he would customarily do for Tony. “It can’t be healthy, eating what you’ve been eating.”

“W—what’s this about exactly?” Tony asked, confused and mildly irritated. He didn’t know why Barnes suddenly had it in him to think that he and Tony were chummy enough with each other for this level of presumptuousness. Tony wouldn’t even allow Rhodey the latitude of granting him access for the purpose of force-feeding him, and Rhodey had been Tony’s friend since time immemorial. Maybe it was something Tony did? Maybe Tony had given Barnes the wrong impression that pulling a stunt like this was perfectly all right. When the fact of the matter was, Tony didn’t need anyone looking out for him—if he was eating or sleeping properly or some such shit. He avoided the rest of the team precisely to do away with this nonsense!

His irritation, however, was soon dwarfed by the magnificently mouth-watering smells beginning to permeate the workshop. What had Barnes said? Ah, steak and cheese sandwich… Tony _was_ hungry, and he hadn’t had anything substantial in his stomach, apart from Twinkies, Dingdongs and potato chips, in fucking forever.

Barnes presented Tony with a tray of a steaming mug of coffee and a plate of warmed-up steak and cheese sandwich; a small, child-like smile was on the other brunette’s face that was slowly losing the haunted shadow that had once been so pronounced on it. “I just want to thank you for…everything you’ve done, Tony. I know it ain’t for my benefit—the things you’ve helped me with—but it can’t be denied that I wouldn’t be as put-together as I’m becoming without your help. So… thanks.

“And I thought that someone who works as hard as you do deserves a break, and that maybe I could lend you a hand by making sure you’re eating properly,” Barnes supposed, a ghost of a smile and earnestness writ clear as daylight on that face. “Least I can do,” he further injected.

Pursing his lips, Tony breathed a resigned sigh through the nose. He had to hand it to Barnes; if Tony didn’t know any better, he would say that this was part of some kind of scheme: to coax Tony out of his shell, to get Tony to start _caring_ again, and to make him realize how lonely he really was.

If it weren’t for the challenge presented to him to rehabilitate Barnes, Tony was perfectly fine staying within the four walls of his workshop, working on his machines with only his bots for company and not dealing with any of the Avengers at all. But as it was, he’d modified the BARF, engineered a new cybernetic arm for Barnes at the latter’s behest, formed the Barnes Rehab Team and stomached dealing with his backstabbing former teammates—even if it _was_ only infrequently, because a part of him, no matter how small, was invested in wanting to see Barnes lick this.

Perhaps despite all that pain caused by the rift within the team and against his best intentions, Tony had _never_ not cared.

And Barnes was simply on to him. For Tony to admit to himself that he had _always_ cared.

Tony suddenly thought of a picture he had seen in his mind’s eye countless times since he’d woken up from his three-month coma: of a blonde-haired, blue-eyed man, sitting across from him and smiling at him with such adoration through the rim of his coffee cup, a gleaming silver band on the man’s left ring finger.

Cared more about _some_ than others, apparently.

But _they_ don’t care about Tony because _they_ care about _Barnes_.

“You can place the tray over there,” Tony directed, nodding towards a relatively clutter-free surface, and continued, “I don’t like being handed things.

“This isn’t going to be a regular thing, is it? Because you know I can get food on my own, Barnes,” Tony hurriedly clarified with a huff, nevertheless accepting the proffered tray of food by pulling up a swivel chair by the table where the tray was and studying its contents.

“You’re not talking about the junk food that you like hoarding at three in the fucking morning, are you? Because that ain’t food, Tony, that’s _garbage_ , and eating Twinkies in the dead of night can’t possibly be healthy.” Tony couldn’t help but notice the chastising tone in Barnes’ voice at that. “And, you know, like I told you—it’s the least I can do to repay you. To make sure you’re not eating yourself to an early grave or something. I mean, you gotta eat _something_ to keep you going with your work even if you aren’t joining us for meals. _I_ don’t mind, really,” Barnes reasoned with a small shrug of his cybernetic arm. Tony grimaced inwardly at how close Barnes’ statement had come to striking a nerve.

To keep Barnes from detecting how sore the topic of team avoidance was for Tony, he digressed, snorting, “ _Twinkies in the dead of night_ , huh? That could be, like, the title of a well-advertised puff piece about me in some gossip rag… _Twinkies in the Dead of Night_ ,” Tony declared in an over-the-top radio announcer’s voice with a half-amused shake of his head. He couldn’t help but find it droll.

Pawing the sandwich off the plate, Tony took a generous bite and chewed. But _Jesus F. Christ_ , that tasted fucking _heavenly_! He caught himself mid-moan so that Barnes wouldn’t be clued in to how amazing Tony thought the sandwich was, and the sound that came out of him was a cross between a squawk and a whimper. To his mouth that hadn’t had the taste of anything more substantial than too sugary or too salty junk food for several days now, the steak and cheese sandwich was like ambrosia.

“’s good?” Barnes asked with a pleased smile at Tony’s reactions.

Tony, without thought to any finesse, stuffed the rest of the sandwich in his mouth and started pawing the other. “’s a’ight,” Tony muttered through a mouthful of steak, cheese and bread. Who was he trying to convince that it wasn’t the greatest thing he’d eaten of late anyway?

“Just ‘all right’?” Barnes pressed like the teasing asshole that Tony had never pegged him for.

Tony rolled his eyes, again, through a mouthful of sandwich and, in a snit, spat, “it tastes so fucking _delicious_ I think I just peed in my pants a bit. Satisfied?”

If he’d noticed Barnes coloring a lovely shade of puce at that statement, Tony decided not to point it out and be a dick about it. That way, he couldn’t be accused of being an unappreciative ingrate. Barnes should consider that restraint as enough thanks for feeding the genius-billionaire.

“Very,” Barnes replied after he’d gotten control of the blushing. “Beats Twinkies in the dead of night, doesn’t it?” The former asset good-naturedly badgered a bit more, pulling up another swivel stool to sit close to Tony.

“Yeah, yeah, rub it in; why don’t you?” Tony bantered back then, changing the subject, said, “you know what—since you’re already here anyway and you’re far too self-satisfied for your own good, let’s check the calibrations on the arm,” offered Tony in between chewing and chasing after crumbs of the steak-and-cheese.

He brushed his hands off against his pant legs and, still chewing, retrieved some precision tools from the adjacent—more cluttered—table. Gesturing for Barnes to present the cybernetic arm at an angle favorable to making the necessary adjustments, Tony sat down on his swivel stool again and poked and prodded the metal appendage with single-minded focus. He _could_ focus better now, too, because this time, his stomach was actually sated with actual food.

Barnes cleared his throat, jolting Tony out of his focus. “How do you feel about that, though?” Barnes asked, his stormy blue eyes attentively staring at Tony through the curtain of his thick mahogany eyelashes.

Tony stared back, puzzled. “How do I feel about _what_?”

“If I could regularly bring food down here for you,” Barnes responded, but quickly followed it up with: “might as well, right? I mean, if, right now, you gotta make frequent adjustments to the arm anyway… I could bring food down here so you don’t have to live off of junk food.”

After that blessed, blessed steak-and-cheese, that was one mighty enticing offer indeed. But even though Barnes had said that the food was some sort of gesture of thanks, Tony couldn’t help but wonder what the former asset thought he could gain by playing nanny. “ _Why_?” Tony asked, suspicion heavy in his eyes that were narrowed in a squint. “What’s in it for you?”

Worrying his lower lip at Tony’s obvious distrust, Barnes assured with the kindliest eyes Tony had ever seen on the man, “there’s nothing in it for me, Tony. I just want to thank you, and…you know—this is the only way I know how. I don’t mean to offend you; if you don’t want my help, it’s—it’s fine. I—I’m not going to force my company on you.”

Damn these super soldier fossils and their puppy dog eyes!

Barnes stopped pressing on the issue while Tony returned to his wordless calibration adjustment of the cybernetic arm. He could practically feel the persistent wrinkle on his forehead, between his eyes, that refused to abate. He wanted to keep being suspicious of Barnes’ real intentions for offering to take food down here to him, in effect condoning his rude treatment of the rest of the team, but Tony couldn’t sense any malice to it. It didn’t help any that Tony knew next to nothing about Barnes, which made it doubly difficult to smell any ill will on the former asset’s part.

It wasn’t like he could chat the Captain up about it, about Barnes—hell _no_!

And, if Tony were being true to himself, he felt immensely lonely, for which he knew he had no one to blame but himself. It was just that, no matter how much Rhodey needled him to start reconnecting with the rest of the team, Tony was still wary, standing by what he had told the Captain back when they saw each other last Christmas: no one could disappoint you or hurt you if you keep them at arm’s length, if you don’t let them in…

Stealing a sidelong glance at Barnes, however, Tony thought that Barnes was not like the rest of the team, was he? He didn’t betray Tony’s trust. Sure, he was responsible for Tony’s parents’ death but he _had_ been brainwashed by HYDRA at the time. It didn’t make any sense insisting on blaming the man for it and, at the same time, helping him overcome said brainwashing, did it? The assassination was either Barnes’ fault or not Barnes’ fault, and Tony, had effectively accepted that it wasn’t Barnes’ fault by helping him, had he not?

Then again, Barnes’ innocence and Tony’s thirst for redemption _weren’t_ the only reasons why Tony was helping the former mercenary. He was helping Barnes also because of Ste—

Shit… Ah fuck it! “FRIDAY?” Tony broke the silence.

“ _Yes boss?_ ”

“Clear the Sergeant over here for future visits to the workshop. He’ll be needing adjustments every 48 hours to the prototype cybernetic arm for the next 6 weeks or so,” Tony advised his AI, watching surreptitiously as Barnes tamped down on his pleased smile by biting his lower lip.

“ _Affirmative, boss._ ”

“I don’t like spicy food, okra and sesame oil. But everything else is fair game,” casually piped Tony up, meeting Barnes’ gaze for a moment before reverting his attention back to the mechanical arm.

“I know,” Barnes replied, looking boyishly sheepish again that it was hard to reconcile him as being the same HYDRA-conditioned assassin whose brainwashing Tony was helping to cure. “I asked FRIDAY what you do and don’t like.”

OK—that was impressively intuitive on his part, Tony had to hand him that.

“ _Sir, Captain Rogers was looking for Sergeant Barnes and he’s requesting for access to the workshop,_ ” FRIDAY informed.

Tony refrained from rolling his eyes. Rogers’ devotion to Barnes was so predictably gag-worthy, it wasn’t even amusing anymore. “And he can’t wait ten minutes until I’ve finished the adjustments, can he?” Tony growled under his breath. “Let him in.”

Steve stepped off the elevator and into Tony’s workshop bearing a tray of sandwiches and a huge mug of steaming coffee. “Hey Buck. Tony,” acknowledged the Captain.

“Cap,” Tony greeted back, deadpan. If Rogers intended to handfeed Barnes in front of Tony while in Tony’s turf, that would have to be the proverbial last straw to break the camel’s back. Or maybe, that would be exactly what Tony needed to get over his delusions and daydreams and pining for someone he didn’t have the foggiest _why_ he was pining for anyway?

“Stevie. FRIDAY said you were looking for me?” Barnes asked, his arm still at an angle to accommodate Tony’s adjustments.

“Yeah,” confirmed Steve then continued, “FRIDAY said you were here getting adjustments to your arm. And I thought I could take the opportunity to, umm…” Steve carefully deposited the tray of food he’d brought on the table by Tony’s elbow. “For you, by the way.”

Tony pointedly kept his eyes glued to the cybernetic arm. But he could feel a thunderous expression slowly blooming on his face at the idea of Steve bringing food for Barnes in Tony’s workshop. Tony wanted to fucking scream…

“Looks like Stevie and me had the same idea, Tony,” remarked Barnes, jolting the genius out of his arm-calibrating daze.

Tony met Barnes’ amused gaze with a mixed up one of his own. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I brought you a sandwich and coffee, Tony,” Steve, clearing his throat, said. “But it seems like Buck had the same idea and beat me…to it.” Steve awkwardly shuffled where he stood and his voice was laced with something weird, something Tony couldn’t quite define. Steve’s eyes momentarily darted towards the empty tray of the food Barnes had brought for Tony and then at the new tray he, himself, had brought. “It’s just… you haven’t been joining us for meals, and I don’t know if you’ve been eating—I thought, ehrm—yeah… so that’s chicken salad and coffee…”

Had he, maybe, missed some kind of announcement that it was _Feed-Tony-Stark-With-Sandwich Day_?

“I appreciate the thought, Cap, but like I’d told your buddy over here not thirty minutes ago, I can get my own food,” Tony snapped at Steve, curt. He perfectly knew he was being rude to the blonde former soldier. After all, had he not tolerated Barnes for the exact same move? But, yeah, here he was being an asshole to Steve.

Because this was _Steve_ , and Tony knew that the Captain really wasn’t doing this because he was worried about Tony or because he cared about Tony. Cap was doing this to ramp up on actively seeking for Tony’s forgiveness: Cap was doing this out of fucking _guilt_.

The really sad and pitiful part? While Tony knew perfectly well why Steve was doing what he was doing, a part of Tony wanted to read _something else_ into it; he wanted to _hope_ that there could be more to it—that Steve really did care for him.

_“Always remember that in this universe and in all the universes there are, we are meant to be together…”_

Jesus, why was he doing this to himself? Tony inwardly shook his head to clear his pathetic thoughts.

Steve had never cared, and would never care, for him. For the Captain, Bucky Barnes always came first. _Always_. Steve never cared about him to tell him about his parents; Steve never cared about him when he’d left him behind without a backward glance in the Siberian tundra with a dead suit, the battery of which Steve, himself, had destroyed; Steve never cared about him, notwithstanding having noticed that he hasn’t been joining them for meals, because Barnes’ rehabilitation was first priority. Steve never cared for him. Period.

All he’d cared about was Bucky fucking Barnes.

But Steve had come back to the Avengers compound when Tony was in a coma at great risk to himself because even until now the amended Sokovia Accords were still on shaky foundations, and those in power were still temperamental assholes that could very well turn around on the flimsy _status quo ante_ and arrest the whole lot of Steve’s faction. Despite _all that_ , Steve had come back…

It couldn’t be denied, though, that Steve _might_ have just returned for the sole purpose of seeking Tony’s forgiveness so that Tony, with his big brain, could figure out how to fix Barnes up.

But Steve hadn’t categorically _asked_ for his help; Tony just decided to help Barnes, himself. Steve looking like a kicked puppy all the time _had_ something to do with Tony’s decision, but it was still _Tony’s_ decision. Steve had never tried to engage his help in the matter of Barnes.

And Steve didn’t know about Tony’s weird delusions, dreams and hallucinations since the coma, so the Captain couldn’t have used Tony’s confused feelings for him to manipulate Tony into deciding to help Barnes, could he?

Tony held this internal debate all while adjusting Barnes’ mechanical arm with a stony face and adamant refusal to further acknowledge Steve’s gesture. Or even _look_ at Steve, really.

For Steve’s part, he stood unobtrusively and wordlessly at Tony’s five o’clock, emanating his usual furnace-like heat and staring a hole through the back of Tony’s head.

After about the tensest ten minutes of probably all three of their lives, Tony was done with the adjustment. “All right! Arm’s still spic-and-span,” declared Tony, tossing his precision tools towards the table, narrowly missing the trays—one spent and the other still loaded. “Do a variety of activities so we can see how it performs. Let me know of any lags and glitches. Next adjustment’s in 48 hours, ‘kay?”

Barnes’ face broke out in a blinding smile, then looking at his long-time friend, asked, “so what do you think we should do, Stevie? You heard Dr. Stark over here, we oughtta put the arm to the test…”

“How do you feel about doing some public service and washing our teammates’ cars? They’re gonna be owing us some beers for it,” offered Steve with a small smile, stuffing his hands in the front pockets of his jeans.

“Sounds good to me,” acceded Barnes, getting up from his wheeled stool and following up with: “hey you wanna join us, Tony? Getting some sun’ll be good for you—ain’t that right, Stevie? Don’t you think Tony should come with us?”

Now wouldn’t that be the pinnacle of _Awkward_?

“If he wants to,” Steve responded, shuffling his feet and clenching his jaw.

It was then that Tony met Steve’s eyes for the first time since the latter’d come in. Damn these super soldiers and their puppy dog eyes…

“Thanks,” said Tony, boring his own eyes into Steve’s but hoping against hope that his eyes wouldn’t betray any of the latent emotions currently running rampant inside. “But I’m gonna have to take a rain check. My hands are full at the moment.”

Barnes exhaled, trying and failing to hide his disappointment, and said, “OK—hey—“ He gestured towards the loaded tray that Steve had brought with his flesh arm. “At least you have a snack now, too. You should finish that.”

“I will,” Tony nodded, averting his eyes so as not to have to look directly at either of his guests.

“See you around, Tony,” Barnes said by way of goodbye, before sidling up to Steve and beginning a mumbled conversation with his friend, as they strode to the elevator that would take them back up to the surface.

Tony pursed his lips in momentary indecision whether he should say something to the retreating backs of the two super soldiers. Biting the bullet, Tony suddenly blurted out, “thanks for the sandwich!”

The super soldiers stopped midstride and turned to look at him. Barnes looked bashfully pleased while Steve looked hopeful but sad. The expressions on their faces couldn’t have been more different.

“ _Both_ of them,” Tony added then, clearing his throat and licking his lower lip, made a show of beginning to look busy—returning to some work that was interrupted by the arrival of his surprise guests. Though not before he saw a ghost of a smile on Steve Rogers’ profile before the Captain turned to follow his friend towards the elevator.

-0-0-0-

“ _Boss?_ ”

In Tony’s hand was gripped the precision tool he had started out with in tinkering with the drone that, combined with one other drone and Falcon’s Redwing, could triangulate and locate anything with a margin of error of a measly 1.12 meters, form a containment barrier for a concentrated EMP blast to fry any enemies’ machine-driven weapons, and incapacitate said enemies by emitting a bio-electric pulse that, like a remote Taser, interferes with the peripheral nervous system, creating temporary paralysis to the subjects.

At least that was the general idea once he finished with the drones. He didn’t have any hope of finishing them, though, if he was just going to stare at the live feed of the Avengers facility garage on his holo-screen instead of work like he was supposed to.

Tony watched as the live feed showed Barnes and Steve goofing off while washing Sam’s car. Barnes sprayed Steve with pressurized water from the hose he had in his flesh hand while Steve tried to retaliate by splashing Barnes with sudsy water from a bucket. The two were wet, soapy and silly and on their faces were matching wide smiles of unmistakable glee.

They looked perfectly happy and perfect for each other.

Tony’s gut roiled like having the earth snatched out from right underneath him, and his throat constricted like he was being choked to within an inch of his life. He didn’t know why he was even doing what he’d been doing these past several months. Did he expect things to change? For Steve to realize that he should have picked Tony instead of Barnes?

Because that was never going to happen. No matter what Tony did, he was never going to matter to Steve Rogers more than Bucky Barnes mattered to the former. The two had a long history together. They’d championed through tremendous odds to get to where they were. Tony was just in the way of the greatest love story there ever was.

Tony’s memories were nothing but delusions. No matter how real they seemed to Tony, they were just, plain and simple, hallucinations.

“ _Boss?_ ” FRIDAY called, louder that time.

And it was enough to snap Tony out of his trance. “What?” Tony asked, his voice breaking a bit, gesturing for the holo-screen to cut the feed.

“ _Your birthday is coming up in less than two weeks, and you have yet to make plans. Would you like me to book you a flight to Malibu? You’ve always spent your birthdays there after all, unless you’re with the Colonel._ ”

Tony hung his head to hide his melancholy smile. To hide it from _whom_ , he couldn’t determine. He was going to be 47 years old soon, and though he has a lot to show for it in the matter of achievements and net worth, his life was far from full and happy.

He was still alone.

If only he could’ve made it work with Pepper, if only there hadn’t been that rift within the team, maybe he wouldn’t be so miserable, forced to be content in his secret surveillance of the people who used to be his family in the confines of his workshop with only his bots and his AI for company.

Maybe he might even be up there in the garage, hosing up a storm with Steve and Barnes, instead of here, making plans for his birthday that he intended to spend by himself…

Tony breathed a pained sigh. “I think I’ll skip Malibu this year, Fry. Why don’t you arrange for accommodations in Palawan, in the Philippines? It’s summer there now, isn’t it? I’ll take SI’s fastest jet on the morning of the 28th and I’ll be back here by the 30th. How’s that sound?”

“ _If I say I disapprove, boss, would you be amenable to changing your plans?_ ”

“No,” Tony answered without bite but with defeat in his tone. “Just make the arrangements, sweetheart, OK?”

“ _Will Colonel Rhodes be joining you in the trip then?_ ”

“No, I’ll be going alone. And under no circumstances are Pepper and Rhodey—or any of the team, for that matter—to know about my plans,” Tony reminded his AI. “Is that clear, FRIDAY?”

“ _Very well, Mr. Stark,_ ” FRIDAY also conceded with a tinge of pity to her usually chipper Irish brogue. “ _If that is your wish._ ”

Tony palmed his face and raked a forceful hand through his hair to get his head out of the clouds. “It is,” he murmured as if to convince himself.


	13. 13. STEVE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Tony's birthday and the gang is planning something to celebrate it. When things don't quite go according to plan, explosive revelations are had instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG!!! I am so SORRY, you guys, for not updating last Friday but the Christmas weekend was soooooo hectic and so busy, it was even more crazy planning and cooking up a storm at home than working in the office, that I didn't finish the chapter and so I've had to postpone the update! I am a little shit, I know. And the sad part is, I'm not sure if this coming weekend will be any better for me to be able to up the 14th chapter.
> 
> BUT, BUT, But--while I'm not making any promises, I will do my level best to be able to have something for you guys. Because Tony's three month sojourn in the other dimension is coming then already (based on my notes, the 14th--and possibly the 15th and 16th, too--is gonna be it!!!) and that's what we've all been keeping our eyes peeled for, right?
> 
> Anyway, Belated Happy Christmas y'all!!! I hope you all had fun during the weekend and please consider this chapter my belated Christmas present to each and every one of you, my lovelies!
> 
> Your Kudos and comments will be *your* gift to *me* so go crazy! If there are any issues, typos, inconsistencies, do let me know, please please. And as always, don't forget to--
> 
> ENJOY!!!!  
> \---

****“You’re late, man. We said we’re gonna do this at least thirty minutes before sunrise,” Sam chastised, throwing his arms wide towards an approaching Rhodes, standing up from being slumped on his grassy patch of hill and brushing dirt and bits of grass from the rump of his gym shorts. “D’you sleep in?”

 “Nope—woke up at three-thirty and completely lost track of time, surfing the net with FRIDAY’s help. I’m sorry, really,” he apologized then, turning to the rest of their party—Bucky, Vision, Scott, and Steve, apologized to them as well. “I’m sorry, y’all.”

“It’s fine, Rhodes,” Steve accepted the apology in behalf of the others. “Must have been something important if you lost track of the time.”

“We should just start,” urged Scott, shakily standing up from the grass himself. “If I don’t get up and move, like, in the next thirty seconds, I’m going to fall asleep again on this here patch of grass.”

They started with the simpler Tai Chi poses, with Vision leading them through the movements, as the sun slowly rose behind them to warm their backs. It was both amusing and surprising to have their android teammate leading them on the meditative maneuvers of the soft style martial art that was Tai Chi. But everyone agreed that, with Bruce still on the run, Vision was the most Zen of all of them and would be most effective in leading them through the Tai Chi poses. Sam, though, was just of the opinion that no one could learn the moves faster than Vision.

They decided to begin meeting up some mornings, that morning being their first, to do some Tai Chi as a stress relieving exercise and additional training to supplement their self-defense in hand-to-hand combat situations. They extended the invitation to everyone on the team but it was only Steve, Bucky, Sam, Rhodey, Scott and Vision who’d confirmed.

“So, why _were_ you late, Rhodey?” Sam asked, plopping back down on a grassy knoll after finishing 24-form Tai Chi and flipping open the cap of his water for a drink. “Did you receive any intel from any of your contacts in the military about the opposition to the current Sokovia Accords or General Ross?”

The amended Sokovia Accords that had been ratified amidst much opposition from its former supporters, around the time that Steve and the rest of the team had returned to the Avengers compound during Tony’s coma, was still highly debated until now. Despite having been revised through the combined efforts of the brightest legal minds of Stark Industries, the Kingdom of Wakanda and Avengers advocates learned in international law and politics with the most strategic compromise in mind, there were still pockets of opposition to its current form with General Thaddeus Ross at its helm. Ross’ humiliation during the Zemo affair and the breakout from The Raft didn’t seem to faze the dismissed US Secretary of State that even though a President who was sympathetic to the Avengers has been elected, replacing former President Ellis, Ross was still actively inciting citizens’ unrest towards the Enhanced in general, and the Avengers in particular.

Suffice it to say that the Avengers always kept the General’s activities and whereabouts in the fringes of their Command Center monitor just for every one of them to sleep better at night.

“No,” Rhodey answered, slinging a small towel over his shoulder and crossing his arms over his chest. Then, turning self-conscious, continued, “I was actually looking for ideas for a good birthday destination.”

“Whose birthday?” Scott asked, intrigued. “Yours?”

“Tony’s actually. On the 29th,” came Rhodey’s response. “He usually spends it in Malibu when he’s not with me.”

“When you’re with him, though, where do you guys go exactly?” It was Sam’s turn to ask.

“Atlantic City, Vegas, Morocco, Hawaii, Macau…you know, places like that. But I think Tony needs something else other than our usual gig this time,” confessed Rhodey. “Maybe a celebration that’s more intimate, more relaxing and less gaudy… I was trying to engage FRIDAY and the internet to give me some ideas, and I completely lost track of time.”

“Well, you can’t find anywhere more _intimate_ and _relaxing_ than a high-class Gentleman’s Club in Paris then, if that’s what you’re going for,” Scott suggested then, as if slipping into some sort of far-off memory or daydream, continued, “ooohh yeah…definitely intimate, all right.”

“I’m not even going to ask for any details, Lang, because I’m sure it’d be _nasty_ ,” Sam snarked with a shake of his head.

“How about a peaceful cabin by the lake up in Tahoe, Colonel?” Vision said, leaning forward and becoming involved in the conversation.

Rhodey snorted, amused. “If I can get _Tony Stark_ to stay for two whole days in a quiet lakeside cabin in Tahoe without him stabbing me in the eye with a screwdriver, it’d be a goddamned _miracle_. I’m sure three hours into _that_ excursion and Tony would be hopping in his Audi screaming bloody murder.”

Silence fell on the group as everyone looked to be pensive on the matter of how to celebrate their reclusive teammate’s birthday.

“We can always celebrate it here in the compound and throw a surprise party. We can prepare comfort food—ice cream, buttercream cake, mac ‘n cheese, chicken drumsticks, hotdogs and grilled burgers—and play classic parlor games or something; I think Tony’d really like that,” Bucky piped up, his face screwed up in a thoughtful squint. “It’d be intimate with just the team and Tony’s closest friends; it’d be relaxing and simple, too, because it’d just be a small affair.”

Rhodey’s face broke into a grin at that. “You just might have something there, brah. I don’t believe Tony’s ever had a surprise party and something like that before, so he’d probably like it for being completely different from the others he’s had… That just might work.”

“Stevie and me can help with the planning, right Steve?” Bucky enthusiastically volunteered.

It wasn’t that Steve didn’t want to involve himself with planning a surprise birthday party for Tony because there was nothing in the world he wanted to do more than that, except maybe take Bucky out on a proper date. It was just that Bucky’s enthusiasm to undertake planning for a birthday party for someone he barely knew or someone he was just recently acquainted with came as a bit of a surprise for Steve.

“S—sure, sure—we’d like to help. Of course,” Steve assured, recovering his bearings. Bucky actually beamed at that and began to rattle off a barrage of ideas for party games and decorations. It was the most Bucky had ever said to any one member of their current company.

This was the closest Bucky ever came to being back to his old animated and cheerful self since he’d woken up way back in Easter.

The preparations for Tony’s surprise birthday party kicked off almost instantaneously because they only had less than a week to arrange everything and they had to hustle. Natasha and Rhodey took care of inviting Tony’s handful of friends who were non-Avengers like Pepper, Happy, Jane Foster, Erik Selvig, Darcy Lewis, Helen Cho, Peter’s aunt—May Parker, Laura Barton and the Barton kids, Maria Hill and former SHIELD directors—Fury and ‘Agent’ Coulson. Vision and Wanda were in charge of the food and drinks—they were going to go for the party classics like mac ‘n cheese, ice cream, cake, corndogs, grilled burgers, onion rings, fries and soda. Scott and Sam were given party games and music duty. And finally, Steve and Bucky were assigned to decorations. Stephen, who was mostly dividing his time between the New York Sanctum and the Avengers compound, and Peter, who was busy with exams, reports and researches for his junior year, mostly just pitched in any way they could in various aspects of the preparations.

Bucky, however, was _also_ actively involved with the party games, helping Sam and Scott, _and_ food preparation. Steve noticed that there was a single-minded enthusiasm in Bucky to help in all facets of the party planning, that the BARF sessions during the days leading up to the party were just all the more bearable because of the positive distraction. Steve noticed Bucky smiling a lot more as well, and part of him was glad that Bucky found solace and cheer in helping organize something for _Tony_ while another part of him was also troubled at what exactly the whole thing boded for his own aim to straighten things out with Tony and finally come clean to Bucky about his own feelings towards the latter.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t pleased that Tony and Bucky were getting along well with each other; it was that it was _Tony_ who was the cause for Bucky’s smiles nowadays, and it was _Bucky_ who was relatively succeeding in tearing down the walls that Tony’d built around himself—walls that _Steve_ , himself, was still quite unable to penetrate.

To say that the whole thing was making Steve frustrated was a damn understatement!

“You started building the origami Iron Man stand-in without me,” Bucky commented, almost complaining as he took in the sight that was the Avengers team sans Stephen, seated around the kitchen table folding red and yellow pieces of paper into packed triangles for the origami Iron Man figure that he and Steve had decided to create by way of birthday party decorations.

The former Sergeant had just come in from the lower levels of the building, carrying an empty tray of food which he deposited on the counter. He, then, claimed an empty chair two seats away from Steve and plucked red and yellow pieces of paper from the center of the table to begin folding them into triangles himself. He and Steve had learned the folding pattern from a YouTube instructional video a couple of days ago. They had initial misgivings about being able to finish the figure in time, but apparently, everyone was just eager enough to lend a hand as Steve, Natasha, Rhodey, Sam, Scott, Peter, Vision, the visiting Clint, Laura, Cooper Barton and Lila Barton all sat around the table and got busy with folding paper. Two-year-old Nathan Barton, meanwhile, was fast asleep on a stroller beside his mother.

“Well, we had to—we don’t have much time left to build it,” Steve piped up whilst in the middle of folding paper. “Where were you anyway?”

“I was in the workshop, getting regular adjustments to my arm,” informed Bucky. “Took a bit longer than expected so I ended up sharing the egg salad sandwich I brought down there for Tony,” Bucky shrugged, biting the tip of his tongue between his lips in concentration while folding paper for the planned Iron Man origami figure.

That sure piqued Rhodey’s interest, hearing that his best friend had been persuaded to drop precious work to share a meal with someone else who wasn’t him. “Hang on—are you saying that you brought food down to the workshop for Tony?”

Bucky nodded with wide eyes.

“And he actually _ate_ it?”

“Yeah,” Bucky responded, blinking owlishly. “I’ve been bringing food down there, every 48 hours or so, since last week when he started with the arm adjustments—why?”

Steve couldn’t help but worry the insides of his cheeks at that piece of volunteered information. He knew that jealousy was a large part of why he was feeling that way. But jealousy _for whom_ , he couldn’t tell, and that was making him go absolutely nuts.

“It’s just…Tony doesn’t appreciate being babied like that. He especially detests it when I try to get him to eat actual food. Or sleep more. Or work less. Or basically anything that will make him live longer,” complained Rhodey to the whole origami-folding group. “That’s gotta be some kinda record or something—getting him to eat something and _in the workshop_ , no less.” There was a definite note of admiration in the former airman’s voice.

Rhodey, slightly panicked, followed it up with: “wait—he doesn’t suspect anything about this surprise party, does he?”

Bucky shook his head and replied, “not that I can tell. He seemed to be in good spirits, though—asked me to let you know that he’s done with your armor’s contingency power supply. You’re getting your suit back in a couple days.”

“Oh good,” said Rhodey, face breaking into an excited grin before continuing with the enthusiastic paper-folding. The Colonel didn’t look the least bit fazed that a relative stranger like Bucky was seemingly getting smarmy with the former’s best friend by bringing him food and eating with him and everything.

Steve was troubled that Rhodey was taking all this in stride. The latter wasn’t even wary of Bucky’s developing closeness to Tony despite Bucky’s involvement in Tony’s parents’ death and the temporary disbanding of the Avengers brought about by Steve and Sam turning into fugitives to apprehend the Winter Soldier themselves.

Steve was even more troubled because he was troubled that Rhodey wasn’t troubled…

God… _damn_.

Between all of them, they were able to fold the paper into triangles, slotted at the bottom and pronged at the tip, for stacking any which way to form a [desired figure](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/07/ac/ac/07acacb4b1b7a31f3731430713a97099.jpg). They were able to finish the Iron Man stand-in before the day was out in record time.

The next day—the 28th or the day before Tony’s birthday—was spent on last-minute decorations, cleaning the living area where they were planning to hold the party and cooking the food, save for the cake which Vision, Wanda and Bucky agreed to bake from scratch on the morning of Tony’s birthday so they didn’t have to worry about where to store it.

The day of Tony Stark’s birthday dawned bright and early, albeit a bit on the overcast side.

Despite himself, Steve couldn’t help but be excited also for when it was time to spring the surprise on Tony later that day. The Captain was dead certain that Bucky’s own excitement, though infectious, had nothing to do with his own. Steve looked forward to seeing Tony’s face once the latter saw the origami figure of Iron Man; he only, just now, realized how much he missed hearing Tony joke or laugh. He hoped that this day was just going to be like the old times.

Steve was in the middle of blowing a red balloon in the living room while Bucky, Wanda and Vision were discussing if the cake’s fondant was smooth enough in the adjacent kitchen when Rhodey strode in, a thunderous expression on his face.

“The party’s cancelled. He’s not coming. The asshole’s not even in the goddamned country!” Rhodey said, grinding his teeth together and clenching his hands into tight, angry fists. Steve's hold distractedly loosened from the mouth of the balloon and the air escaped from it in a loud whoosh just as the kitchen conversation about fondant icing died a sudden death at Rhodey’s announcement.

It was Bucky who spoke first. “What do you mean he’s out of the country?”

“I mean he left early yesterday morning to fly to the other side of the _goddamned_ world and he won’t be back until tomorrow—“

“—how do you know? Did you talk to him?” Bucky interrupted Rhodey’s angry tirade. The confusion was evident in his tone. But Steve could detect more than just confusion in Bucky’s voice. There was also disappointment and sadness in not only his words but in the way his shoulders had slumped ever so slightly.

“Natasha suggested that we should make sure that Tony had not snuck off somewhere to avoid us on his birthday, much like what had happened at Christmas and Easter. So I asked FRIDAY for access to the workshop to talk to Tony, and when FRIDAY was not forthcoming in granting the request, I suspected that something was amiss already and I called his mobile phone,” Rhodey relayed, his own shoulders slumping in defeat. “He’s in the _Philippines_. He ordered FRIDAY not to alert us. He left yesterday and won’t be back until tomorrow evening.

“This is all my fault,” lamented Rhodey, just as Natasha and Clint entered the living area. “I knew he was a flight risk, I should have asked FRIDAY the moment we had this party planned if Tony had any intent to avoid us for his birthday by being god-knows-where.”

“Well, if FRIDAY was ordered by Tony not to reveal any of his plans, I doubt we could have stopped him leaving,” Clint piped up, plopping down on the couch beside Steve and toeing the balloons that Steve had already successfully inflated on the floor.

“I could’ve given him a piece of my mind. Or we would not have gone to all this trouble for nothing. Why does that punk-ass insist on pulling stunts like this anyway?” Rhodey practically groaned in frustration.

Steve pursed his lips, deflating like the balloon he had held in his hand not a moment ago. He couldn’t help but feel responsible for Tony’s estrangement from his own best friend and the rest of the team. He knew he shouldn’t but he did. “I’m so sorry to hear about this, Rhodes,” Steve mumbled, subconsciously wringing his hands together.

Rhodey breathed a deep, sympathetic sigh. “Don’t feel guilty for why Tony’s like this, Cap. It’s not your fault that he can be stubborn as all-hell. He’s just so used to keeping people at arm’s length; it’s become second nature to him,” said the former airman. “I just wish I know how to break down his walls this time. I don’t remember them being this high and this impenetrable before…”

“Don’t we all wish that,” Natasha piped up in commiseration. Everyone fell thoughtfully somber at that. The party mood had completely dissipated.

Steve didn’t think anyone else noticed Bucky slipping out of the living area, quiet as smoke.

-0-0-0-

Steve left Bucky to his own devices for the time being. He didn’t have anything for his friend. He knew his friend had also been disappointed that the surprise birthday party for Tony had to be cancelled. Steve would have to be blind not to have seen it writ clear on Bucky’s face just as Rhodey had made the announcement. Steve admitted to himself that he, too, was upset that Tony’d left from right under their noses because he didn’t want to spend his birthday with them—or, maybe—with _Steve_ around.

He’d tried giving Tony a wide berth to get the man to cool off; he’d tried subtle apologies; he’d given sandwich delivery to the workshop a shot; he didn’t know how else he could get Tony to stop avoiding him, short of imposing his company on the latter, which Steve really didn’t want to have to resort to. He’d hoped Tony’s surprise birthday party was going to be the beginning of real healing between them, especially after Tony’s acceptance, albeit reluctantly, of Steve’s proffered sandwich that day in the workshop. But no—it wasn’t to be.

And on top of it all, Bucky, too, was dejected because their—well, mostly _Bucky’s_ —efforts to prepare for the surprise party were all for naught due to Tony’s snub.

When sleep didn’t seem like it was in the cards for Steve that night, he just went back to the kitchen to see if he could sneak some cake to distract himself with. He found Bucky sitting rigidly in front of the TV in the living area, watching a movie with a rather vacant look in his eyes.

Bucky’s improvement had been on the up and up these past several days that to see those stormy blues once again devoid of any emotion was like a kick to Steve’s gut.

“Can’t sleep, too, huh?” Steve said, clearing his throat to signal to Bucky that he wasn’t alone anymore.

Bucky, seemingly slipping out of his trance, blinked repeatedly and turned his head to look at Steve as the latter sat down on the couch beside him. Breathing deeply, he answered, “I’ve just been meaning to watch this movie. Thought I’d best see it now.”

“What’s it about?” Steve casually followed up on the questioning, wanting to catch Bucky on his bluff about watching the movie he wasn’t really seeing not a moment ago.

Bucky chuckled, humorlessly. “I’m not sure, actually. I wasn’t paying attention anymore.”

Steve hummed, drumming his fingers against his knee, uncertain how to respond to that.

“Do you want some cake?” Steve offered out of the blue. He wanted to cheer Bucky up somewhat, and what better way than to try to distract him? “I was gonna get some. That’s why I went down here.”

“Sure,” Bucky said with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He braced himself to get up from the couch when Steve stopped him.

“I’ll get some and bring it here. You don’t have to miss the rest of the movie,” Steve assured, getting up himself.

After several slices of cake and the rest of the movie that Bucky had been watching ( _When Harry Met Sally_ ), both of them were no more cheerful than when Steve had stumbled upon him in the living area. So when the movie ended, Steve suggested they watch another rom-com-y one— _What’s Your Number_ just to see if they couldn’t pick their rotten mood back up.

The second movie began with them in relative silence, but, a third into the movie, Bucky suddenly spoke, “has he always been like that, Stevie?”

Somehow, Steve knew who Bucky was referring to, but he nevertheless decided to play the innocent card. “Who’s always been like what?”

“Tony. Was he always so detached?” Bucky twisted in his seat to squarely face Steve and look into his eyes. “You know him longer than I do, and I guess… I’m just wondering why he seems so…contradictory.

“Because there _are_ times when—in the workshop, whenever I bring food down there to him and he adjusts the arm—he seems like a different person. More good-natured and approachable. And then he goes and pulls off something like _this_ , and… I’m just having a hard time connecting the passionate and witty man to this—this cold, reclusive…hermit,” Bucky lamented, eyes narrowed in dissatisfaction.

Steve felt like having the ground pulled from under him, inch by excruciating inch. He was definitely envious: he was envious that Tony still showed that side of him to _Bucky_ , and Steve would probably never get to see it ever again. And all because he, virtuous _Captain America_ , had kept a secret from Tony and was involved—directly or indirectly—in taking the only family Tony Stark had ever had. _Twice_!

Rhodey said this wasn’t Steve’s fault. But he begged to differ.

It was. It _always_ had been Steve’s fault.

Bucky’s struggle at present to reclaim himself and the guilt beating down on him for the past seventy years or so as HYDRA’s brainwashed assassin was Steve’s fault. If only he was quick enough, strong enough to have reached for Bucky that day on the train, none of this would’ve happened. Bucky wouldn’t have had to kill so many—Tony’s parents included. Bucky wouldn’t have been accused of bombing the Vienna International Centre in Austria and ensnared in Zemo’s plot to take vengeance on the Avengers.

And Tony…what happened between him and Tony was Steve’s fault as well. Tony’s current guardedness was Steve’s fault still.

So Steve told Bucky about the whole sordid story of his life in the 21st century. Steve told Bucky _everything_ , speaking just a tad louder than the characters playing their parts out on the movie they were watching. Steve told Bucky all the things—the guilt—that have been weighing his shoulders down since he’d woken up in this time.

Just like old times when Steve would tell Bucky everything and feel all the better for the confession, Steve unloaded his soul’s burden to his best and oldest friend.

“Stevie,” Bucky choked, his eyes soft with sympathy. “I don’t blame you and I never did. You saved my life and I’d gladly jump into war again for you. I’d jump into war _over and over again_ if need be. For you,” Bucky reassured, encircling his arms around Steve’s neck in a comforting hug. Bucky’s breath was soothingly warm against the shell of Steve’s ear. “It was my choice to rejoin the war when I could’ve gotten myself out after you saved me, and it might not have been my choice to leave your side and die into the HYDRA assassin they made me become, but _that_ wasn’t your fault. Don’t burden yourself into thinking that it was, because you’re my _best friend_ , Stevie, and if I had to choose between the two of us—who’d live to see the end of the war and who wouldn’t, I’d’ve gladly died for you then. And I’d gladly die for you now.

“I can’t speak for Tony, but I do know this: if there’s anything that these past weeks’ve taught me—learning about my past and the blood I have on my hands—it’s that we all make mistakes—some more grave than others. But it’s how we set things right that matters.

“ _I_ can only right my wrongs so much, and I can’t get all the lives I’ve taken back. But if I can get well—well enough to run missions with you, guys—then maybe, I can save lives and take pride in the lives I do save instead of feel weighed down by those I’ve taken.

“That’s why I’m working as hard as I can to get better. And if _I_ can do that then _you_ can, too, Stevie—you can set things to rights with Tony. I’ll help you,” offered Bucky with a blindingly bright smile and shining eyes. “It’ll be like Patricia Wells. Remember Patricia Wells?” Bucky joked with a smirk, a smirk that just transported Steve back to the 1930s and their youth. He had Steve’s face cradled between his palms.

Patricia Wells was two grades younger than Steve and Bucky in school. Bucky used to tease Steve of liking Patricia who was in the same grade as Bucky’s younger sister, so Buck vowed to be Steve’s bridge to Patricia, help Steve to curry favor with her and maybe grab a soda or a candied apple or something.

Steve had never really liked Patricia Wells, but he enjoyed it when Bucky tutored him and boosted his confidence to be able to approach Patricia. Steve made Patricia Wells an excuse to hang out more and spend more time with Bucky.

He never did get to ask the girl to share a soda or a candied apple with him. But it wasn’t like nothing came out of all that coaching and all that ego-boosting. Steve and Bucky’s closeness became all the more solid because of Patricia Wells.

 _Of course_ , Steve could remember Patricia Wells.

Steve didn’t know what came over him. He thought he pretty much had his feelings for his best friend well under control, but the next thing he knew he was surging forward and capturing Bucky lips with his own. He wanted to blame it on Bucky’s smile—that smile that made Steve lose himself to the past and literally opened the floodgates to the dam that was Steve’s decades and decades of repressed emotions.

Steve surrendered himself to the moment that lasted all of two heartbeats before Bucky was pulling back from him with an aghast look on his face.

“What the hell was that all about, Steve?!” Bucky demanded, eyes wide as saucers, horrorstruck. At least, he didn’t wipe his mouth with the back of his hand in disgust. Steve supposed that Bucky’s reaction could’ve been a lot worse.

“I—I…” Steve stammered, at a loss for any easily dismissed excuse for his behavior. Goddammit… Steve bit his lips between his teeth as it dawned on him what he had just done. He had just kissed Bucky. _He had kissed Bucky!_ And now Bucky was looking at him like Captain America had just said something treasonous or Nazi-sympathizing for all of the shock that was emblazoned on the former Sergeant’s face. What was he supposed to tell his best friend now?

“Is there something you need to tell me, Steve?” Bucky asked, prompting him. The look of abject horror on the brunette’s face was simmering down but there was still unmistakable shock there.

“Buck, I—“ Steve began. He should just say it. There was no use trying to hide it anymore because the cat was out of the bag after that kiss. There was no way Bucky was going to just let him walk away after all that. “I—I’m…I’m in love with you, Bucky. I always have been.”

“What do you mean by you ‘always have been’?” Bucky asked, his handsome face exhibiting an expression that was a cross between concerned and disturbed. “How long, Stevie?”

“Buck, I—“

“— _how long_ , Stevie?” Bucky asked insistently.

“Since before the war, before my Ma died, before art school.” Pretty much before anything of note happened in Steve’s life. Pretty much _always_. Steve couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t in love with Bucky.

“ _Jesus_ …” Bucky murmured breathlessly, leaning back on the couch as if the news made him susceptible to a swooning fit. “Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” reasoned Steve, worrying his lower lip. “It was against the law then to be…to feel for another man what I felt for you and I didn’t want you to be disgusted with me. I didn’t want to lose you as a friend because you were my friend first, Buck. And I didn’t know what I’d do if I lost you as a friend because of these—these inappropriate feelings for you.”

There was a tense silence between them as both tried to digest the import of some invisible line they had just crossed. There was no going back now. There was no taking back the revelations.

“I…I don’t know what to say, Steve,” confessed Bucky. The brunette looked absolutely pained, but at least, he didn’t look repulsed by what he’d found out. “It’s just—it’s so…crazy right now. I don’t really know what I feel about all this.

“But I know that you know that you’re important to me. You’re probably the most important person in my life. _Ever_. But I don’t know if I’m ready for something like…like this. I’m not the Bucky you used to know, Steve. And I still have a lot of shit to deal with before I’m well and truly recovered—“ Bucky, with as much composure and kindness as he could muster, began to explain before Steve interrupted him.

“—no, I—I understand, Buck. There’s no need for you to explain.” Steve got it clear and unequivocal enough. Bucky didn’t feel the same way for him. Steve thought it might even be something he had got eighty years ago, which was why he preferred to keep his own feelings bottled up inside. Steve was the most important person for Bucky, yes. But Steve wasn’t important enough for Bucky to have any romantic feelings towards him. And to have to categorically hear it now straight from the horse’s mouth, so to speak, felt like having Steve’s gut cut wide open. “We are friends first before anything, and I’m not telling you this now expecting that you’d feel the same thing for me. Don’t feel pressured into thinking that you need to feel something back for me. You don’t, Buck. If friendship’s all that you can offer, then so be it.”

Every word out of his teeth felt like a stab to his heart, but Steve pushed on. It was never about getting Buck to feel something back for him. He had always been contented about what he felt regardless if his beloved felt the same. While he had hoped that there would come a time that Bucky would love him back, it had never been a condition that needed to be fulfilled for him to keep nurturing his feelings.

He loved Bucky whether or not Bucky could find it in his heart to love Steve back.

It was pitifully self-effacing. But he wouldn’t have it any other way. The alternative was to stop loving Bucky—set himself free from this one-sided love—but he didn’t know how to do that. And frankly, he didn’t really want to.

Bucky stayed beside him on the couch but refused to look at him, save for surreptitious glances once or twice. After what felt like an eternity of edgy silence, however, Bucky finally spoke again, “but won’t this hurt you? Knowing that I know how you feel and yet I’m unable to return your feelings? I don’t want to be unfair to you, Stevie. You deserve someone better, someone…someone who’s not broken, someone who can love you back like you deserve. Loving me, Steve—it’s more trouble than it’s worth. Have you…have you tried considering turning your attention—your affection—to someone else, maybe?”

Steve chuckled, making an effort for it not to sound so humorless and empty. “I’ve loved you almost all of my life; I don’t know how to stop or direct it to someone else.

“And just because you think you’re broken doesn’t mean you’re not worthy of being loved, Bucky,” Steve murmured in reassurance.

“You won’t hurt me—like I told you, before anything, we’re friends first and we will always be. I’ll always be your friend and I’ll always be here to help you get better. I’m with you ‘til the end of the line, remember?

“I know what you’re doing,” Steve said with a deep sigh. “You’re letting me down easy, but Buck, you _don’t_ have to. I know where we stand. I apologize for the…the kiss—it won’t happen again, but please don’t let things change between us because of this,” pleaded Steve, trying his hardest to keep his voice from breaking and betraying the depth of his emotions to Bucky right now.

Bucky surprised Steve by reaching for his hand and squeezing it, comfortingly. A small smile bloomed on Bucky’s face; the Sergeant looked both apologetic and reassuring, if that was possible. And Steve knew they were going to be all right.

Steve stood up from the couch and patted Bucky on the shoulder. “It’s been a long day. You should get some rest. Good night, Bucky,” Steve said softly.

“Night, Stevie,” Bucky said, watching as Steve strode towards the stair well before turning back towards what was left of the movie they were supposed to be watching.

Alone in his room, Steve hunched in on himself, planting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together. He allowed himself to feel the sting of Bucky’s rejection for the first—and hopefully, the only—time. He slowly composed himself, though, re-learning the heaviness in his heart, which, this time, was for a completely different reason.

Bucky was his best friend, first and foremost, and the former needed Steve to be his friend now more than ever. Perhaps one day, with hope, Bucky may learn to love him, too.

Or maybe he wouldn’t.

But Steve reminded himself that it had never been about having his affections returned. He loved Bucky Barnes, and he always would. With all his heart.

That was enough for Steve.


	14. 14. TONY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony gets back a day early from his birthday escape and sees something quite unfortunate. He decides to seek Strange out to deal with his _other_ set of memories once and for all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know I'm sorry, you guys, for not getting this done before the New Year's but I think I more than made up for the delay with this here the next installment to our complicated three-way love story. We see here a couple of glimpses into Tony's sojourn in the other dimension, but I left this at a bit of a cliffhanger--seeing as there's more memories for Tony to wade through (He was in that other 'verse for three months after all, so you can bet there's more!).
> 
> Oh and BTW, Happy, Happy New Year to each and everyone of you, my lovelies! I hope you enjoy my New Year's present for all of you. Same drill, OK? I still love to know what you think about the new developments to the story, and if there're any issues, typos and inconsistencies, please do not hesitate to let me know, a'ight?
> 
> Long-ish chapter where my faith in the power of STONY is restored, but you'll know soon enough why... Memories in _italics_ , by the way. And don't forget to ENJOY y'all!!!  
> \---

****Tony awoke to a rare and surprising hangover on the day of his 47th birthday.

He hadn’t had them hangovers for quite a long time now since he’d exchanged alcohol binges in favor of days-long engineering benders after he and Pepper had finally called it quits subsequent to taking a break in their relationship for the longest time. Rhodey, however, wasn’t any more in favor of the latter than the former despite the fact that Tony was arguably more productive during his sciencing episodes than his drunken ones.

It _had_ been a while, so Tony welcomed the severe pounding of blood in his temples and the urge to hurl his weight in stomach fluids more than what was sane.

The band playing the night before in Coron, Palawan’s most hopping resto-bar was pretty good that though alone, Tony got into a festive enough mood to put away drinks like a champ. After the resto-bar closed for the night, Tony went back to his hotel room alone and damn near cleaned out his mini-bar. He didn’t think there was anything wrong with celebrating his birthday by getting pissed-drunk. It had been awhile after all.

It was also quite bizarre and, at first, discomfiting to not have FRIDAY chirping through an earpiece because Tony’d decided to spend his birthday on a tech holiday, clear his mind of any pending upgrades, technical tweaks and lines upon lines of coding. And if he was being honest with himself, not having FRIDAY served a dual purpose of going on a tech holiday _and_ getting off the grid.

He knew being a recluse today was not going to endear him to the rest of the team, and it might even look pitifully pathetic of him to want to spend his birthday alone. But he really felt like he needed to escape the stifling confines of the Avengers facility and the tight-knit family that inhabited the space.

Tony could feel in his heart of hearts that there was a particular place he was really yearning to escape to—a place that was both nearby and yet universes away. He couldn’t put a finger on it but he just… _knew_ that he didn’t belong _anywhere_ like he belonged there. There was an emptiness in him that could only be filled by being _there_ again, in the arms of the people who were his real family.

Funny how he could remember _the feel_ of the place but not the place itself.

Only that it wasn’t in the Avengers compound. Hence, he felt he had to leave and fly halfway across the globe to relive the feel of _that place_. His home.

But it wasn’t _here_ either. The hollowness and the feeling like he was missing something were like persistent splinters in Tony’s mind.

So he took to drinking again. To make him forget that he was missing something that he couldn’t quite remember… It was like a new, far more creative method of psychological torture.

Though severely hungover, Tony performed his morning ablutions and left his room to wander the breathtaking beaches adjacent to his hotel in [Coron, Palawan](http://cms.interaksyon.com/lifestyle/assets/2013/06/Beach-view.jpg). The place was unquestionably spectacular, and he didn’t know why but it reminded him of some other place—some other place he couldn’t quite pinpoint but left him aching in the vicinity of where his arc reactor used to be.

He wandered the huts and kiosks of novelty items, waded in ankle deep seawater at the beach, sunbathed on the loungers and joined a group of female senior citizens traveling from Manila in a rented skiff to go island-hopping.

The old ladies, who didn’t recognize him as the billionaire businessman Tony Stark,  were a hoot and offered Tony his much-desired distraction for the three hours or so that they went from one island to another, taking pictures and marveling at the unique beauty of each and every island. Not having recognized him, the ladies didn’t give any preferential treatment and dealt with him like they would their own son, and it was damn refreshing.

When he confessed that it was his birthday that day, the ladies became even more excited and invited him for a special dinner that evening to sample the local cuisine and to get wasted on ladies’ drinks. Tony, thinking that that would certainty beat getting soused by himself, accepted the invitation and was mighty glad that he did. No disrespect to his boy, Rhodey, but the little ol’ ladies could sure put it away and they damn well knew how to have a great time. The ladies announced to the whole restaurant that it was his birthday which earned him a rousing rendition of _Happy Birthday_ from the crew and a special song number from the night’s performer. There was good music, good food, and great conversation.

It was one of Tony’s better birthday celebrations. The only thing that made him somber was the fact that he’d spent it in the company of strangers instead of his so-called family…

They left the restaurant in high spirits, and the ladies all turned in at midnight after wishing him a happy birthday. Tony decided to hang out in a lounger on the beach to stargaze since he wasn’t the least bit sleepy yet. He was buzzed, yes—but he wasn’t drunk.

At close to two in the morning, while Tony was in and out of a nap still on the lounger by the beach, his phone started trilling loudly, jolting him awake.

“’Lo?”

“What _the hell_ , Tony!” It was Rhodey, and he sounded livid. “Where in blue blazes are you?!”

“Heya, sour patch,” Tony lazily greeted, stifling a yawn and sitting up on the beachside recliner he had earlier claimed for himself. “What’d I do this time?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you had other plans for your birthday?! Where the hell are you?”

“I’m in the Philippines—“

“— _the fuck_ are you doing there?!” Rhodey practically screeched. “Jesus, Tony—what are we even around for if you can’t even be bothered to tell us that you planned to fly all the way to the Philippines for your birthday?!” His friend _definitely_ shrieked that time that Tony pulled his smartphone away from his ear.

“I felt like going to the beach so I had the jet prepped yesterday morning,” reasoned Tony, noncommittally. “Besides, what are you screeching at me for? It’s not like you had a grand party all planned out for my birthday or something,” he snorted derisively at that.

“Actually, we did,” Rhodey admitted with an exasperated sigh, but at least, he wasn’t yelling anymore. He just sounded defeated that even thousands and thousands of miles away couldn’t hide. “We wanted to surprise you. We planned out a whole menu, invited your other friends, decorated the living area and devised parlor games—all to surprise you for your birthday…

“And you…couldn’t have the fucking _decency_ to let us know that you’d be jet setting to the other side of the globe, because if you’d told us then we wouldn’t have gone out of our way to make any plans at all.” Now Rhodey just sounded disappointed that Tony felt guilty for having to blow his friend off.

The genius-billionaire didn’t know how to respond to that so he just wisely kept his trap shut.

“Why do you do this, Tones?” Rhodey asked after a brief period of contemplative silence on both their parts, a mix of frustration and entreaty in his voice.  “Why do you build these walls around you and keep us out? It’s been _over a year_ since the conflict over the Sokovia Accords; you’ve already given Barnes a shit-ton of help—don’t you think it’s high time to let bygones be bygones, reconnect with your family, stop _goddamn_ keeping us at arm’s length?”

Tony didn’t have an answer to that either.

It wasn’t that he was pissed at the whole lot of them for the rift caused by the Sokovia Accords. Even he couldn’t hold a grudge against family for that long—well, not counting his father, at least. But Tony supposed he was just…terrified. While it was true that he was lonely and miserable because he preferred to erect these isolating walls around himself, this detachment was the only way he could protect himself from vulnerability, from a world of pain all because he cared too goddamn much.

After another period of uncertain silence, Tony spoke as jovially as he could to downplay the heaviness of the last hanging question between the two of them: “we’ll talk about this more when I come back tomorrow night, OK?”

Rhodey exhaled loudly through the nose, preparing for more verbal abuse, no doubt, but he surprised Tony when, with a tone of more profound defeat, he answered, “fine, it’s—it’s all right—just…take care of yourself, Tones—you hear me? I’m not there to keep you outta trouble or bail you out. And…Happy Birthday. Would’ve wanted to greet you in person or give you a good, solid smack at the back of your head, but I guess that can wait until you’re back…”

Tony uncharacteristically felt ashamed at the disappointed and worried tenor of Rhodey’s greeting. “Don’t worry about me—I’m a model citizen. Already did my civic duty of assisting the elderly and all,” fondly joked Tony, remembering the group of fun-loving old ladies he’d spent his birthday with. “I’ll see you when I get back,” assured Tony, fighting off a hint of melancholy, before he ended the call.

He spent another five minutes staring out at the open sea that glittered under the half-moon and a blanket of stars before coming to a decision. Swiping at his smartphone’s screen, he keyed in his security code and put a call through the Stark Industries central satellite-based server. He dictated his unique eight-digit authentication code.

“ _Good Morning, boss. Happy Birthday! How may I assist you today?_ ” FRIDAY chirped from the other end of the secure line.

“Prep the jet, Fry. I want to be wheels up and outta here in 10,” commanded Tony, getting up from the lounger. He’s had his escape; time to return to the real world.

Tony was pensive for the entire flight back to New York. He’d programmed the jet to fly at its maximum speed, and FRIDAY calculated his ETA at around nine or ten still in the evening of his birthday, contrary to what he’d told Rhodey that he was not getting back home until the evening of the next day.

He didn’t know why he’d suddenly felt the urge to be back at the Avengers compound as soon as he could. Maybe it had something to do with the news that his teammates had planned a surprise party for him or maybe it was the need to make it up to Rhodey immediately, but Tony found himself antsy a couple hours into the flight back—eager to get off the jet.

It was already past eight in the evening of his birthday when the jet touched down on the roof deck of the Stark Tower in midtown. From there, it was still about a two-hour drive back to the Avengers facility in upstate New York in his Audi sports car. He didn’t make any stops along the way and was already in the compound’s garage ten minutes before ten in the evening.

Noticing that the residential building was already quiet, which meant that Rhodey had effectively cancelled the surprise birthday party when the celebrator was a no-show, Tony still proceeded to the kitchen. At least, there might be leftovers. There might even be some cake. And then the grueling intercontinental flight back in near-supersonic speeds would be well worth it.

There was someone—several someones—in the living area, judging by the sound of hushed conversations on top of the dialogue of some movie that was also playing. If Rhodey was among the people in the living area, then Tony could start groveling for his best friend’s forgiveness straightaway. With a smile and a spring in his thick rubber-soled step, Tony bounded up the stairwell.

And was treated to the scene of one Steve Rogers and one Bucky Barnes in a lip lock.

Tony’s breath caught in his throat and time seemed to crawl to a snail’s pace. Of course, he would be the unwitting audience to this show. Of fucking course… It was just Tony’s rotten luck that of all scenes he could have stumbled into, it had to be one of the Cap and his beloved _kissing_.

He felt like screaming.

Clenching his jaw and pivoting on the balls of his feet like the devil himself was on his heels, Tony bounded down the stairwell without hesitation and with single-minded purpose. He knew exactly where he needed to go.

_“Always remember that in this universe and in all the universes there are, we are meant to be together…”_

Enough was enough. He was putting an end to this bullshit.

He only hoped the person he needed to see was around, or Tony would have to drive back to the city tonight to seek him out. He punched the DOWN button of another set of subterranean elevators, one that would take him to the bunker housing one Dr. Stephen Strange whenever he sojourned in the Avengers facility.

He didn’t know if it was just his impatience and frustration, but he thought the elevator moved too damn slow. It felt like hours before the doors opened to an underground lair that resembled a bomb shelter more than anything. These mysterious sorcerer types and their eccentricities…

The bunker was closed off from the elevator by a heavy wooden door in a semicircular doorway. The doorway was decorated by symbols— _runes_ —unfamiliar to someone like Tony. The dim hallway was sparsely lit by an antique-looking lamp dangling from the ceiling. Cobwebs would’ve completed the look of some kind vestibule sent from hell; only there were no cobwebs. The area was dim and eerie in its air of mystery but it was clean.

Tony stepped up to the door and banged self-importantly against it, uncaring if he was waking the good doctor up from sleep. “Strange, open up!” He called, accompanying the persistent knocking. “Strange! I need to talk to you. Open the fucking door, dammit!”

After about three more times of calling his name, each call more desperate and angry than the last, the heavy wooden door opened a crack and Strange’s irritated, one-eyed stare met Tony’s thunderous one.

“About goddamned time—“

“I just got back from Bleecker, Stark. I’m in no mood to receive visitors. What do you want?” Strange demanded, clearly annoyed. He made no further move to open the door further to admit his guest into his lair.

“You’re going to undo the damage you’ve done right fucking now, and I won’t take no for an answer, Doc,” Tony huffed, clenching his hands into tight fights on his sides.

“What are you talking about?”

“Nothing’s been the same since the coma—when you yanked out my consciousness and sent it to wherever the fuck you’d sent it to. I’m having recollections of things that didn’t happen and I want them gone,” Tony hissed, eyes stinging in anger. He didn’t care if Strange shut the door to his face. He was going to stand there all night, if he has to, or until Strange acquiesced. He was not going to endure the mental torture of these pseudo-memories of a life he couldn’t have possibly lived any longer.

“I don’t care how you take them or what the effects are—rip ‘em out if you have to—but I fucking _want them gone_.”

-0-0-0-

Doctor Strange’s subterranean sanctuary in the Avengers compound was even more mysterious than the entryway from the elevator. It contained tomes that looked older even than civilization itself, artifacts encased in laminated glass boxes, and more doorways that were hidden from view by several layers of brocade curtains. It was a space that seemed out of place in as modern and high-tech building as the Avengers compound was. And Tony, futurist and man of technology that he was, felt just as out of place in the room.

Tony’s outburst in the doorway did the trick to change Strange’s mind about receiving him. The genius-billionaire supposed he must have sounded desperate enough that Strange all but pulled him into the sanctuary and ushered him to a comfortable armchair with an offer of tea which Tony’d declined. He wasn’t there on a social call after all. He wanted a solution to the problem that’s been bugging him for over six months now.

“You think you can describe these…memories you’ve been having to me?” Strange asked, sipping his own cup of tea.

“What’s the use? I want them _gone_ , Doc. I’m not here to engage your help in making a damn memory diary or something,” spat Tony, wringing his hands together on his lap in agitation.

“Well, until I know how _elaborate_ these memories of yours are, I refuse to help you in banishing them,” Strange disapproved with a curt shake of his head, the salt-and-pepper hair on his temples catching what dim light the room had and making his temples glow silver. “They may be weaved intricately with your other memories that to erase them, block them or banish them would cause irreparable damage to your mind.”

“You mean _brain damage_?”

“That’s what I said,” confirmed Strange. “Unless…”

“Unless what?” Tony quickly prompted the other man.

Strange planted his elbows on the arm of his chair and steepled his palms in front of him, touching his joined forefingers on his lower lip in thought. “Unless we coax all the memories out—see how deep the rabbit hole goes, so to speak, so we can see exactly what we’re dealing with. Then, you can decide if you really want them gone—“

“—I don’t need to _wait_ to decide if I want them gone,” Tony insisted. “I want them dealt with _now_. I don’t want to be caught unawares by these… _false_ memories anymore.”

“Why don’t we make them surface first—all of them? Not snippets, not disjointed scenes, but one cohesive tale—of what really happened to you while you were in that other dimension.” Strange leaned forward to emphasize what was about to happen to Tony. “That’s my condition, Stark. You want my help? We do it my way.”

“Fine,” acceded Tony, swallowing his trepidation and trying to get comfortable on the armchair. If his mind was going to go on a little regressive journey, he might as well be comfortable.

“Don’t you want to tell someone about this first? Colonel Rhodes, perhaps?” Strange offered, narrowing his eyes with concern.

Tony shrugged and curled his lips, dismissively. “No, I’m good. Let’s just do this.”

“If you insist,” Strange answered and slammed his open palm—with his fingers splayed out like a fan—against Tony’s gut.

Tony felt like having his breath knocked out of his lungs. His eyes closed of their own accord when the oxygen supply to his brain became dangerously low.

_When Tony opened his eyes and, at the same time, tried to gulp in a mouthful of air, he was lying in a bright and sterile-looking room that was unmistakably a hospital room. He wheezed in a near-panic when he found his throat obstructed by the breathing tube of a life support system. He started convulsing violently, clawing at his mouth to get the damn breathing tube out so he could breathe on his own again._

_“Tony…Tony!” The body slumped on the side of his bed, on the right side jerked awake and held Tony’s flailing arms away from the breathing tube before he could do any more damage. Right at that moment, a barrage of medical personnel barged into the room to deal with the newly-awakened—and panicking—patient._

_It was only after Tony was calm and breathing tube-less that he realized who it was that had been slumped on his bedside: Rogers._

_Captain Steve_ fucking _Rogers._

 _Who had snubbed Tony’s offers of compromise on the matter of the Sokovia Accords. Who had resisted stubbornly, so much so that a rift was formed within the team that they had to fucking_ fight _each other. Who had left Tony broken and alone in Siberia after having saved his best friend from a rampaging and vengeful Iron Man._

_What right did this man have to look worried for his well-being?_

_“What the fuck are you doing here, Rogers?” Tony asked, his voice gravelly from disuse. How long was he out of it anyway? The contempt, however, was unmistakable in his hoarse voice._

_Rogers looked stunned at Tony’s tone, but before he could answer, the door opened and in walked Dr. Bruce Banner, who was, without a doubt, a sight for sore eyes. Tony could barely remember when he’d seen Banner last._

_“Holy shit, Brucie-bear! You’re back!” Tony sat bolt upright in bed. He would have crawled towards Bruce, butt-exposing hospital gown notwithstanding, in absolute joy at seeing the man again after the Ultron debacle, but Tony felt so bushed that he stayed boneless in bed so he just asked the newcomer, “when did you get back?”_

_“I only stepped out for a while to get a bite to eat actually,” Bruce answered, looking bafflingly from Tony to Rogers, expecting one of them to sort the confusion out. “AIM must have really done a number on you, huh?” Bruce chortled with a slight shake of his head._

_“AIM?” Tony asked, narrowing his eyes at Bruce. He was about to turn towards Rogers, but realizing that he was supposed to be mad at the Captain, stopped halfway and awarded Bruce his full attention again. “AIM couldn’t have been responsible for that intergalactic herd of deer stampeding through Wall Street!”_

_“OK—Tony? What’s the last thing you remember?” Bruce finally asked what must have already been the question that was swimming in his and Rogers’ minds, judging by the perplexed expressions on their faces._

_“I was zipping through the air space over Wall Street, doing recon on the attack of a herd of intergalactic deer, and then Strange did his hocus-pocus shit and next thing I knew, I was waking up with a breathing tube down my throat,” relayed Tony, looking bewilderingly at his scientist friend. “Why? Is that not what had happened to me?”_

_“No, Tony,” Bruce answered, his face dead serious. “AIM set up a trap for you, abducted you and they would’ve tortured you to death had Steve not come in time to bust you out. You were unconscious for two weeks. Steve had to give his consent to put you in an induced coma just to give your body ample time to heal itself.” Although the doctor had a terrific sense of humor, something about the look on his face told Tony that Bruce was not kidding._

_Tony brought his hands to his head to squeeze his temples. What the ever-loving fuck was happening? It was then that he noticed two things at the same time: the light in the room caught on a piece of jewelry he had on his left ring finger; and—wait—why was_ Steve Rogers _, of all people, the one who was authorized to give medical consent over his person?_

_Giving the Captain the dirtiest, most suspicious glare he could muster, Tony likewise noted that Rogers had a matching band around his own ring finger, and something cold slowly trickled down Tony’s gut. He brought his left hand close to his face and viciously yanked the offending piece of jewelry off his finger._

_It was a wedding ring. It was a bloody, fucking_ wedding ring _! And on the inside band, only one word was engraved—simple and without any embellishments. It made the blood in Tony veins run cold and the inside of his mouth dry up like the desert:_

_STEVE._

_Shit…_

_Tony gasped and blinked once, disbelieving, before unconsciousness reclaimed him once more._

_============_

_Tony bent over to check the underside of the pan for how big the fire in the stove was. Actually, he thought the intensity of the fire would have nothing to do with how crappy his cooking would turn out to be. He had never cooked anything more than the occasional omelet in his life and even that he always got wrong somehow. He didn’t need to be in full possession of his memories to know that cooking was just not his forte._

_But he wanted to do something for Steve and the rest of the team by way of breakfast fare, so he thought he should try his hand at cooking—again. He thought of doing something simple: scrambled eggs, ham steaks and toast._

_“Hey,” someone greeted him from behind and Tony straightened up to check out the newcomer, although he had a pretty good idea who it could be._

_It was Steve. “Good morning,” Steve greeted, standing beside him and leaning his lower back against the adjacent counter. Steve knew better than to greet him with another morning kiss after several initial attempts of his that were met with horror and evasion, if not flat-out recoil and rejection, from Tony, whose memories were still out of whack even after three weeks since regaining consciousness in the hospital floor of the Avengers Tower._

_Steve cleared his throat and smiled shyly at him. “What are you cooking?”_

_“Just some ham steaks. I was thinking of adding some scrambled eggs to this, knowing how you and Thor eat,” Tony answered, half-flipping a ham steak on the pan to check if that side looked cooked enough._

_“Does this mean you could—“_

_“Still nothing,” Tony interrupted, knowing what Steve was about to ask. He still hasn’t remembered what they all thought he should remember. Not the abduction by AIM, not the subsequent heroic rescue by Captain America, and especially not the engagement and marriage to the_ same _Captain America. He’s had some sessions with Bruce, though, relaying to the good doctor what he_ could _remember. And apparently, he had no problems recalling events until about four years ago; he was mixed up regarding some events since; and completely clueless about more personal events in the last two years. “Why do you ask?”_

_“Just… I’d thought maybe something substantial might have occurred to you overnight because you’re cooking this morning, and this is something you always do for me—for us,” Steve said with a smile that was trying not to look too disappointed. He moved to the other side of the stove to start juicing some fresh fruits to go with Tony’s ham steaks and scrambled eggs._

_“I cook?!” Tony asked, incredulous._

_“Yeah,” Steve confirmed with a bark of laughter. “All the time.”_

_“I actually cook something that’s edible.” Tony marveled at the new information with a shocked shake of his head. It gave him new confidence that he could pull breakfast off. Maybe, muscle memory would win over even though he didn’t have any actual memories of being able to cook._

_“Yeah,” Steve answered again. “I especially can’t resist your eggplant parmigiana. I never can stay angry at you whenever you cook that for me,” continued Steve, longing and misery were distinctive in his tone of voice that time._

_Tony couldn’t help but feel guilty. He knew he shouldn’t because his current amnesia was not his fault. He’s had some brainstorming sessions with Bruce about what might have happened, and Tony had his hypotheses, each more harebrained than the last. A part of him was still suspicious about how ideal everything was, and yet a part of him wanted to will his recollection of his so-called lost memories as soon as possible._

_It was just…he didn’t know how to respond to Steve whenever the latter looked at him with such pain and longing. And it was beginning to pain Tony. That Steve has all these memories of the two of them together, and Tony’s last memory of Steve was the rage on his face as he slammed his shield against Tony’s suit’s chest reactor._

_He poured the cooked ham steaks on a serving plate and focused on cooking the eggs next, not knowing how to respond to assuage Steve’s sadness._

_When he was done with the eggs—which he didn’t know if he’d cooked properly, but he’d adjudged as cooked enough because they weren’t runny anymore—he brought the serving plates to the table to find that Steve had already set it for the two of them and placed two mugs of coffee, one across from the other._

_“Shouldn’t we wait for the others?” Tony asked, watching Steve shovel food first to the plate nearest to Tony and then to the plate right in front of him. “If I’m poisoning anyone with my cooking, I’d rather it be Barton.”_

_Steve laughed heartily at that, his earlier sadness gone from his face for the time being. He grabbed his coffee mug and took a sip from it, looking at Tony through the rim of his cup with such fondness—and adoration—in his eyes. The wedding band on Steve’s finger glowed in the light of the early morning sun spilling in from the Tower windows._

_============_

_If he was a weaker man, the first trip to his workshop, after a little over two weeks since he was released from the hospital floor with a clean-ish bill of health except that he, apparently, had some form of amnesia, would have definitely done him in._

_“_ Good afternoon and welcome back, Sir, _” the distinguishing British voice of his AI, JARVIS, greeted Tony, making the latter’s heart jump to this throat._

_“JARVIS? Is—is that you? Oh my God…” To say that Tony was shocked was an understatement. “How did—how—?”_

_“_ It would seem that the doctors are correct in their prognosis of selective amnesia _,” JARVIS stated, kindness and sympathy were evident in his voice despite being only a disembodied computer program. “_ Dr. Banner has asked me to be of assistance in helping you sort out your recollection of events when there was absolutely no need for him to because your well-being was, is and always will be my top priority. _”_

_Tony, bad-ass adult and Invincible Iron Man that he was, wanted to cry then and there. He had not realized how much he missed JARVIS until he’d heard the voice address him. No offense to Vision and FRIDAY, but things just weren’t the same since Tony had to ‘retire’ his AI/butler/caretaker. JARVIS had looked out for him, was his wingman, for such a long time that losing him felt like having Tony’s own leg sawed off._

_“You’ll help sort me out, right J?”_

_“_ Always, Sir _.”_

 _And sorting him out started near immediately. JARVIS showed him footage of his interactions with Rogers, the first time that Rogers—_ Steve _—categorically asked him out on a date, their more memorable dates, and the time when Steve proposed to him._

 _Tony felt like he was watching a movie based on someone else’s life and not his own. Because it seemed too farfetched, too picture-perfect. It was something he had never imagined would happen in his life because it was_ him _and he was too much of an asshole to deserve something so beautiful. And it was. It was fucking beautiful._

_All the more reason for him to suspect that it was too good to be true. Something was happening here because he and Steve couldn’t have gone from where they were in Siberia to here. So he asked about Ultron, about Sokovia, about Lagos, the Sokovia Accords, and about General Ross._

_There were instances when the events were as Tony remembered them, and there were times when they weren’t. There was such a wealth of information that he tried to absorb all at once that he ended up slumped asleep on one of the tables where his tools were strewn._

_One moment he was hunched over his table in fitful slumber and the next, his cheek was pressed against a meaty bicep and he was being carried out of the workshop, cradled in Steve Rogers’ arms. He whimpered and groaned with every intent to complain about being bodily hauled out of his place of comfort but Steve’s warmth was just so distractingly nice._

_“I got you, Tony. I’m here,” Steve whispered, his voice rumbling against Tony’s body pressed against the blonde’s chest. Tony sighed contentedly and went back to sleep._

_============_

_It was four days since Tony awoke from his induced coma that he was allowed to go back home. And by home, it meant going up from the hospital floor to the penthouse suite in the Avengers Tower. Bruce volunteered to accompany Tony, much to Rogers’ chagrin. It was obvious from Tony’s actuations that he was still quite wary of and panicked around Rogers and that he was more comfortable with Bruce._

_Bruce saw to it, however, to give Tony a couple of thick sketchbooks as per Rogers’ insistence. He thumbed through several pages of these sketchbooks while he walked past chests of cherry wood drawers with picture frames on top which showcased a life Tony didn’t remember living._

_“How can I not remember these?” Tony asked, nodding towards the pictures of him and the Captain, or him with the rest of the team, in the frames as well as the pages upon pages of Rogers’ drawings of him. “Or this?” Tony continued, motioning at Bruce with the hand where the wedding band gleamed in the late morning sunlight streaming into the penthouse suite. After a beat, when Bruce didn’t seem forthcoming with trying to shed light on the matter of Tony’s lost memories, he continued, “when did this happen? I mean, we don’t even like each other_ that _way. In fact, last I remember, Rogers doesn’t even like me_ at all _after he and his buddy ganged up on me and beat me half to death in Siberia.”_

_“Buddy? Which buddy?” Bruce asked, distractedly looking at the framed photographs himself with a small smile on his face._

_It was at that exact moment that the penthouse suite door opened to admit one James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, accompanied by Tony’s best friend, James ‘Rhodey’ Rhodes. Both men were in the middle of a raucous and animated conversation._

_“_ That _buddy,” Tony pointed at a laughing Barnes with a thunderous expression on his face. He suddenly itched for a gauntlet to start shooting something—anything. Noticing Rhodey and the fact that he was walking like the airport incident didn’t happen at all, however, Tony cautiously approached the pair of newcomers to envelop Rhodey in a fierce embrace._

_“You’ve recovered from your injury,” Tony said, breathless with happiness at his friend’s current state. “How did you do it?” He finally let his friend go to clap the latter on both biceps._

_“What are you talking about, Tones? Who was injured?” Rhodey asked quizzically, looking from Barnes to Bruce. “If you’re talking about that time when we ran that surveillance gig in Tijuana and got RPGed to the high heavens by the trigger-happy gang of useless HYDRA goons, we made a promise that you won’t bring that up,” complained the dark-skinned man._

_Tony, of course, didn’t know what Rhodey was talking about, and it must have shown through the puzzled look on his face, so Barnes amicably threw his flesh arm over Tony’s shoulders and teased, “so Stevie was not pulling our leg when he said that you don’t remember shit.” The one-armed bastard sounded too presumptuous for his own good. He sounded too friendly, considering that the last time they saw each other, Tony’d just found out that Barnes had killed both of his parents and the asshole had tried to rip Tony’s chest reactor with his metal hand._

_The same metal hand that looked sleeker and more awesome hanging from Barnes’ shoulder, if that was even possible. Which was weird because Tony could distinctly remember blowing that arm off…_

_“I_ do _remember shit,” argued Tony, wriggling out of Barnes’ assuming half-hug. “Just…not_ this _shit.” Then, suspiciously nodding towards the cybernetic arm attached to the man, voiced his observation, “I see you got the arm back."_

_“His memories are out of whack but he doesn’t miss a beat rubbing the genius of his creation to my face,” Barnes said, smirking and stuffing his fists in the front pockets of his camo trousers._

_“Wait… Are you telling me_ I _did that?!” Tony asked, shocked and still eyeing the arm warily._

_Barnes gaped, but after a heartbeat, commented, “wow, it’s worse than Steve made it out to be if you’ve forgotten how to properly gloat about your creations of sheer genius, pal—“_

_“—we really shouldn’t be telling him things unless he remembers them himself,” chastised Bruce. “I only brought him here to try to jog his memory with his stuff so that he can begin to remember things, himself…”_

_“And take away all the fun we could have with this?” Rhodey asked, his eyes twinkling with humor. “Like hell,” he said before continuing with: “hey Tones, do you know that you’re using a hyphenated name now?_ Anthony Stark-Rogers _—“_

 _Tony flinched in horror. “I would_ never _!”_

_Rhodey, Bruce and Barnes just laughed at his reaction._

_============_

_Tony absent-mindedly entered his bedroom in the penthouse suite and gave a start when he found Steve Rogers, clad only in boxers, on his—_ Tony’s _—California King bed, getting ready to tuck in for sleep._

_“Fucking hell, Rogers!” Tony nearly shrieked, aghast. “What the fuck are you doing here?”_

_Rogers looked like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, but he didn’t make any hurried movements to leave the bed. “Umm, I’m getting ready for bed?”_

_“But this is_ my _bed,” emphasized Tony like a petulant child. “This is_ my _room.”_

 _Realizing the reason for the indignant expression on Tony’s face, Rogers actually chortled. “Where did you think I was sleeping—in a guest room? Tony, we’re_ married _. Of course, I sleep in the same room—on the same bed—as you.”_

_“Oh my God, we—we do?!” Tony asked in a near panic. And he didn’t need it spelled out for him what happens whenever a married couple slept on the same goddamned bed… “Oh God, we—we—we…”_

_Reading the distress both in Tony’s words and body language, Rogers hurried off the bed with pacifying hands raised in a pose of surrender. “OK, OK—I’ll sleep in the guest room. I don’t want to cause you any discomfort. Maybe it_ is _too soon since the attack to foist this on you…”_

_Tony wanted to sink into the walls as Rogers walked by him on the way to the door. “G’night, honey,” Rogers murmured, bringing his face closer to Tony’s, intending to kiss the latter. But, seeing Tony recoil in horror, he retreated with pained blue eyes. “Good night, Tony,” Rogers repeated with a sad smile and left._

_============_

_About a little over three weeks since his release from the hospital floor, the team was having a meal attended by Tony for the first time when the elevator doors to the common floor opened and in walked Maria Carbonell Stark carrying a big box of pastries from Tony’s favorite café. She looked so graceful and so…_ real _that Tony choked on the toast he had been trying to force down his gullet._

 _He was off his chair and kissing and hugging his mother in record time, just to content himself that she_ was _real, and that she was really there._

_“My, my—I’m gone for a month and Pepper said that Dr. Banner said that there was something not right with you. But I didn’t expect this,” the Stark matriarch observed, stroking her fingers through her son’s hair and pecking at his temple. She craned her neck to look at her son who was hugging her like a scared child. “I don’t think you’ve hugged and kissed me like this since you were ten years old.”_

_Tony enclosed his mother in a tighter embrace if that was even possible. She_ was _real and he was so happy. “I just… I missed you so much, Mommy.”_

 _“_ Mommy _huh? OK, who are you and what have you done to my headstrong and stubborn son?” Maria joked and stroked the side of Tony’s face from the brows to the chin as she always used to do. “Steve, honey, what have you been feeding this one?”_

 _“Oh—trust me, Maria._ That _is something you don’t want to know,” Barnes said with a wink at Tony and a twinkle in his bright blue eyes. The comment brought a chorus of snickering from the rest of the team and embarrassed mumblings from Rogers._

 _Rogers was his husband; Barnes was acting like Tony was one of his best friends; and his mother was_ alive _! This was either a very elaborate dream or something was not right in the universe…_

 _If this was even_ his _universe._

_============_

_Inter-dimensional travel._

_Was it possible? But there was no other plausible explanation, was there? He and Bruce had been brainstorming, doing tests, analyzing the probabilities and practically doing everything else in between to try to figure out what could possibly be wrong with Tony._

_It had been over a month since he woke up to this...this_ world _, for lack of a better term. This world where Tony Stark had everything he could possibly want and more. He was in a committed relationship with his gorgeous, peak-of-human-perfection childhood hero; he was a member of the most bad-ass team of super-fucking-heroes; Bruce didn’t leave; JARVIS was still looking out for him; he apparently had two Jameses for his best friends; and his mother—his dear, loving mother—was alive._

 _He_ must _be in another universe; there was no other explanation. He was in a universe that didn’t have anything in for Tony Stark but pure happiness. But the question remained: how? How did this happen? How could he go back?_

_Would he even want to—go back?_

_Tony was so deep in thought that he nearly missed the rose petals scattered on the floor of his suite. They weren’t scattered so much as they seemed to direct to the landing pad outside of the penthouse suite. Tony slid the door open and found the landing pad dressed not in its usual garb of high-tech superhero stuff but a sumptuous picnic dinner for two._

_Tony felt arms encircle his torso from behind. It was Steve._

_“Wha—what’s this?” Tony asked, tilting his head to try to look at the face of the man who had him in his embrace._

_“Well… I thought it’s been a while since our last date night, so I decided to pull something together,” Steve said against the shell of Tony’s ear with a comforting hum. “You’ve been in Bruce’s lab all day. Aren’t you starving? Come on, let’s eat._ I’m _starving.”_

_They ate and talked and joked. They relayed how their day went and they told each other anecdotes about the more memorable moments of their day. Steve talked more than Tony did, which was uncharacteristic. Steve attended to Tony, hand and foot, handing him sandwiches, handfeeding him fruit and pouring him juice. They ended up lying on the picnic blanket to look at a segment of the night sky that they could. There weren’t that many stars, and the city was still bustling below them, but it was as peaceful and calm as Tony had ever been._

_“You’re awfully quiet. I hope I didn’t screw this up,” Steve commented self-consciously._

_Tony put Steve’s misgivings to rest by saying, “no, no—it’s just…no one’s ever done this for me. Not that I can remember, at least.”_

_A beat of silence. “You might not remember it, but this is just like the first time I asked you out on a date,” Steve said, seeking Tony’s hand in the darkness of the landing pad and entwining their fingers together._

_“Yeah?” Tony asked. “Hmm, I imagine I like dates like this—quiet, relaxed… Do I like dates like this?”_

_“Yeah,” Steve answered. “You do._

_“Listen Tony, I know I’ve been frustrated of late with you not remembering—well—everything about you and me. I hope you don’t think it’s your fault because it’s not,” Steve assured, drawing patterns on the palm of Tony’s hand. “It’s not your fault that you can’t remember, and I shouldn’t be frustrated. I should really start seeing this as a real opportunity.” Steve sat up a bit from the picnic blanket, propping himself on his elbow to look into Tony’s eyes. A smile shining with love was on Steve’s handsome face._

_Tony cocked his head with a smirk at Steve. “An opportunity for what?”_

_“To make you fall in love with me all over again,” Steve answered with a blinding smile, leaning down to capture Tony’s lips with his in a soft kiss._


	15. 15. TONY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony gets to see the rest of his life lived in the other 'verse. Will he still want the memories gone afterwards?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did it!!!!!! I furiously typed and typed until I'm done with this chapter to resume our regular posting schedule! This chapter--and the rest of the story--is unbeta-edited so if you do spot weirdness, let me know. Especially with the non-linear narration of Tony's time in the other 'verse...if something doesn't sit right with you--any inconsistencies, typos, grammar issues, please, please PLEASE point them out to me for the improvement of the story, okies?
> 
> Now, I felt the overwhelming response to the last chapter and I felt your love, your anger, your sadness. You let me know of your sentiments, your ideas, your PHILOSOPHIES, for sobbing out loud, and it just made me want to scream with happiness. I always love it when we're already getting a tad philosophical! *evil laugh* Anyway, I hope we can also appreciate the feels in this new chapter. And please, the buttons are still there to let me know what you think.
> 
> Events from the other 'verse in _italics_.  
>  Memories from Tony's 'verse of origin in regular font.  
> And video footage dialogue in [brackets].
> 
> So... ENJOY all of you, my lovelies!!!  
> \---

****_It's been a while since he’s had any bad dreams about Afghanistan, a slow death by palladium poisoning, freefalling through a hole in space, losing Pepper, AIM, Ultron, Sokovia. Mostly his dreams of late had been about Rogers and getting a shield to the chest—if he was lucky, or a shield to the neck—if he was unlucky. Or basically any existing variation of that scenario. Which was why Tony didn’t feel at all comfortable having Rogers on the same bed beside him, regardless of their so-called ‘marriage’._

_But that night, he dreamed about getting dunked up to his chest in a barrel of grimy water over and over in the Afghan cave where he’d been held prisoner for three months. He woke up to darkness, covered in cold sweat and tangled in his own sheets. His throat ached; and he was panting and wheezing as if he really had been choking on something. His face was wet, too; whether it was just sweat or there were already tears mingled in, Tony couldn’t be sure._

_“Tony?” Tony’s bedroom door opened and Rogers came barreling in, his voice laced with alarm. “JARVIS alerted me that you were having a nightmare,” Steve said, raising both his hands in the air in a placating gesture. “Can I come closer?”_

_“No! Stay where you are,” Tony warned. He absolutely hated the terror that was evident in his voice. He hunched in on himself on the farthest corner of the bed and hugged his knees close to his chest. He may not have the arc reactor on his chest anymore but that didn’t mean he could no longer feel the ghost of the thing where it used to sit. Like right now. Tony could hear himself breathing in short, shallow bursts as if he was still choking. His left arm was falling numb, and his heart was pumping furiously inside his chest. “J—I need a… I need—” He mumbled breathlessly but couldn’t finish his sentence. He needed—_

_“Light JARVIS, please,” Rogers finished the request as if he could read what Tony needed from the way his voice hitched in the darkness. “Please increase the temperature in the room also.”_

_When the room was bathed in soft light, Tony saw the worry in Rogers’ face. The Captain looked like he was waging an internal war between the part of him that wanted to rush to Tony’s side immediately to offer comfort and the part of him that wanted to respect Tony’s boundaries because the latter was still wary and terrified of him for some unknown reason._

_“Please Tony, just let me—“_

_“—no! Don’t come…any closer,” Tony wheezed. Shit, he couldn’t breathe. This couldn’t just be a panic attack…_

_“JARVIS, alert Bruce, please,” the distress both on the Captain’s face and in his voice were something Tony had never encountered before—not from Rogers and certainly not directed at him._

_Tony clawed his way off the bed with every intention to stagger to the bathroom and lock himself in where Rogers wouldn’t be able to look at him like he cared. Because Tony just didn’t want to deal with this now. He couldn’t un-see the rage from the Captain’s eyes as he slammed his shield on Tony’s chest or the indifference in those same eyes as Rogers helped Barnes to his feet to walk away and leave Tony behind. He couldn’t reconcile_ that _Steve Rogers with_ this _Steve Rogers._

 _And really,_ breathing _should be Tony’s top priority presently, instead of trying to make sense of his screwed-up head._

_Of all places for Tony’s legs to turn to jelly from right underneath him, it had to be within reaching distance of the Captain. “Tony!” Rogers said, supporting Tony’s dead weight with his strong arms._

_“Don’t…no—don’t touch—don’t…“ Tony wanted to tell Rogers to fuck off and not to lay a finger on him, but he couldn’t find the breath to say it. He didn’t have the strength to push Rogers away either. So, Tony didn’t have a choice but to let the larger man envelop him in an embrace—gentle, comforting and warm._

_“I’m here. I’m right here, honey. I’m right here…” Rogers murmured soothingly as he kneaded Tony’s back from the nape of the neck to just above the waist. And despite himself, Tony felt himself trying to resist less and less with every stroke of the Captain’s hand against his back. His breathing was also becoming less labored, and he could breathe deeper and deeper with each inhale._

_“I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere,” Rogers whispered against Tony’s hair._

_“Liar,” Tony murmured as he, while still in Rogers’ arms, took to slumber once more._

_============_

_“You prepared all of this?” Steve asked, looking around the landing pad and marveling at its current set-up. There was a pearl-white garbed round table with place settings for two, and at the middle was a blown glass vase with a lit, thin white candle inside and a wreath of pale yellow and blue roses at its feet. Music emanated from hidden speakers and fairy lights were strung up in the larger circumference surrounding the table. There was a chilling bottle of champagne on a smaller stand off the side of the round table. “Seems like a lot of work. You shouldn’t have,” Steve said with wistful smile and a squeeze to Tony’s shoulder._

_“I wanted to. ‘Sides, I had Bucky and Rhodey help me out,” said Tony, pulling a seat for Steve to take. “I know what the occasion is, and I might not remember it, but that doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be celebrated.”_

_“Happy Anniversary, Tony,” Steve greeted, sitting down on the proffered chair with a purse of his lips and a lop-sided grin._

_“Happy Anniversary, Steve.”_

_“So, no significant developments, huh?” Steve asked when they were in the middle of eating their main course._

_Tony breathed a deep sigh, fighting off the crestfallen expression he knew was beginning to bloom on his face. “Nope, I’m still your ordinary, average Jason Bourne,” he said, trying for droll and overshooting it by about a mile._

_“Tony—“_

_“—doesn’t matter, Steve. It doesn’t matter to me. I don’t need to remember to be able to know what I’m feeling now…about_ you _—about this,” Tony reassured, gesturing towards their dinner date set-up. Then, pursing his lips in mock thought and squinting at his dinner companion, Tony held out a hand which Steve took. And tugging for Steve to stand up, Tony, himself, stood up to lead the blonde to a clear patch of floor._

_“Dance with me,” Tony urged, placing Steve’s arms where they should be on his body._

_They slow danced, kissed, joked, kissed, laughed at themselves and kissed some more, pulling ballroom moves, spins and lifts more flamboyant than the last. It felt good to laugh with Steve. It felt good to think that this happiness would never end._

_Especially when Tony knew it could. When Tony knew it_ was bound to _._

_Bruce promised not to tell anyone of Tony’s more reasonable—more probable—hypothesis about why he still didn’t have his supposed memories. But Tony was of the opinion that if there was anyone who deserved to know first, it was Steve._

_The problem was_ how _he was going to broach the topic to Steve. How was Tony to explain to Steve that he—possibly—wasn’t the person he was supposed to be? He was Tony Stark, yes. But he wasn’t Steve’s Tony Stark. Shit…_

_“Can I ask a favor from you?” Tony asked, embracing Steve and turning his head so his lips were practically pressed against the blonde’s jaw._

_“Anything. What is it?” Steve wrapped his arms around Tony’s waist tighter._

_“I wanna watch our wedding video,” requested Tony. “JARVIS said I can’t watch it alone as per Bruce’s instruction in case it triggers me, and I don’t feel comfortable watching it with anyone else,” he reasoned before he continued, “so…can we?”_

_Steve hesitated for all of half a minute before he said, “sure. Of course, we can.”_

_============_

_The sound of a tray being carefully and strategically placed on the table by his elbow jolted Tony out of one of his usual deep engineering zones._

_“I don’t remember giving you permission to come in here,” sullenly remarked Tony, looking at the tray of food from out of the corner of his eye. And of course, the genius knew who it was who’d brought it, this being the third time in almost as many days that the man was down here to ply him with food or just to pester him, really. Tony tried to restrict the man’s access to the workshop to no avail. Apparently, it was one of JARVIS’ hardwired protocols since the wedding that nothing short of setting the servers on fire was going to erase._

_“I have unrestricted access, so I don’t need constant permission,” reminded Rogers, employing his Captain America voice. “It’s one of my ‘Husband Perks’, gained through bullish negotiation.” He looked sternly at Tony then at the tray of food and then back at Tony._

_“I’m not hungry.”_

_“You haven’t left the workshop for 48 hours straight, and you expect me to believe you when you say you’re not hungry?” Rogers crossed his meaty arms across his chest and pointedly stared Tony down. “Nice try, Tony.”_

_“You’re not the keeper of me, Cap—“_

_“—no, I’m not. I’m only your husband—“_

_“—Jesus, can you please stop saying that?—“_

_“—what?_ Husband _?” Rogers pressed, raising an imperial dark blonde eyebrow at Tony. “If you don’t eat in the next ten minutes, I’m going to spell that word backwards and forwards for you using a megaphone; I’m going to sing that word over and over to the tune of ‘For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow’; I’m going to—“_

_“Trying to irritate him into eating something again?” Barnes piped up from the workshop’s pneumatic doors._

_Rogers turned to look at the new arrival and Tony just threw his hands in the air in consternation. How was this his life? He was supposed to hate these people to his very core and now they were in his face—Tony even goddamn_ married _one of them, for fuck’s sake! “JARVIS, if I’m not even allowed a say-so on who enters my fucking workshop, then what the fuck am I—furniture?!”_

 _“_ Sergeant Barnes has unrestricted access to the workshop, Sir, _” JARVIS informed him with a dry tone._

_“You’re kidding me! On whose authority?” Tony practically shrieked._

_“Yours,” Barnes, Rogers and JARVIS all answered at the same time._

_“You’ve given unrestricted access to five people: Stevie here, because he’s your boy toy; Banner, because he’s your science bro; Rhodey, because he’s gonna kick your ass if you don’t; Natasha, because whatever you do she can get in anyway, wily wench that she is; and me, because I’m your guinea pig and you just salivate over seeing this baby in action,” Barnes enumerated, gesturing to the magnificent machinery that was his arm. “And you know, because Steve needs help now and again force feeding you with actual, body-nourishing food whenever you’re being an ass. Like now—for instance._

_“And you better start eating something before I get involved because I’m tellin’ you, bud, I ain’t as nice as Stevie here,” Barnes intimidated, casually looking at the fingernails on his flesh hand. “And you can’t get me to let up on you with offers of a blow job either.”_

_Tony couldn’t look more scandalized than he already was._

_Rogers breathed deeply through the nose in frustration. “Please Tony, just—eat something…”_

_When Tony started nibbling on a pizza slice, there bloomed a mix of relief and fondness on Rogers’ face._

_“Sometimes, I don’t see how this relationship of yours can possibly be healthy. Goodness knows you fight about the most petty of things,” Barnes observed with an amused shake of his head. “And then there are times when the only thing that makes sense in the whole goddamned world is that you two are married to each other.”_

_Tony awkwardly averted his eyes back to the contraption he was working on. But not before he caught a hint of a doleful smile on the Captain’s otherwise handsome face._

_============_

_Steve was nothing if not a man of his word, and when he said that he was going to take the opportunity to make Tony fall in love with him all over again, he really meant it._

_And there was no faster way to Tony’s heart than through his stomach._

_Steve was very creative at getting Tony to eat, too. Sometimes, he pleaded with those huge blue eyes of his. Sometimes, he volunteered to help hand Tony his tools or hold this machine part or haul one contraption from one area of the workshop to another just to get the work done quicker so that Tony would get to eating as soon as possible. Most of the time, he ate with Tony and talked about books and movies he’d recently finished._

_Steve never complained that Tony worked too much and had no time for him. In fact, when Tony worked, Steve preferred to hang out in the workshop as well, drawing, or reading or just volunteering his strong grip or steady hands for Tony’s use._

_At first, Steve’s presence was discomfiting, much like those first couple of times after Tony’d woken up from his induced coma. But as time went by, Tony got used to it—to Steve being in the workshop. Sometimes, Tony even used him as a sounding board for his ideas, and even though Steve was not as technical as Bruce, the Captain has a good head on top of those ridiculously broad shoulders of his and he has very sound suggestions now and again._

_Sometimes, Barnes was also around to join them, and Steve confessed to being less technologically driven than the former Sergeant. Tony once thought himself to be a third wheel to the super soldiers only to realize that there was something inherently easy and spontaneous to their three-way interaction._

_Whenever Steve was being stern and serious, it was Barnes who would take Tony’s side. Tony found that he and Barnes—_ Bucky _—shared a playful, snarky, mischievous nature. When a prank war broke out between Sam and Bucky, it was surprisingly easy for Tony to take Bucky’s side, and pranks naughtier than the last were exchanged in the span of two weeks before Steve—wet blanket that he sometimes was—put a stop to it._

_Whenever Tony was being stubborn—like that time in the workshop when Steve was irritating him to get him to eat, Bucky would take Steve’s side and would convince Tony in his own way to quit being an ass, and maybe offer another perspective on the matter. So whenever Tony and Steve fought because Tony was too frustratingly bullheaded, it was Bucky who would reason with Tony and the battle of wills would be resolved only to be fought another day._

_Whenever Bucky was being too hotheaded and impulsive, Steve and Tony would band together, with Steve appealing to Bucky’s emotional side and Tony appealing to the other brunette’s logical side, to get him to cool down and ease up—like that time when they averted a minor emergency of a terrorist attack in a hospital. It took the combined voices of reason of both Tony and Steve to get Bucky to reconsider a frontal assault in favor of a more subtle siege on their opponents._

_The friendship with Bucky became as natural to Tony as the sickeningly domestic relationship with Steve did. He knew whom to sit with during breakfast and movie nights with the team. He ate and slept semi-regularly with Steve, Bucky and Rhodey breathing down his neck. He saw his mother everyday through video call. His life was as routinary as the life of a part-time tech genius-businessman-philanthropist-badass superhero could get._

_And he fell in love with it—his life._

_Just as he knew he was falling in love with Steve with every day that passed because, really, it wasn’t difficult to fall for the man. Steve was smart, witty, occasionally bossy, frequently sweet, caring and attentive, and intense in that he wasn’t ashamed of being affectionate towards his husband whether in his words or the physical contact he would initiate. But at the same time, he knew that without Tony’s memories, there were still reservations and aloofness in the latter, so Steve knew not to push for intimacy._

_They didn’t need to be physically intimate for Tony to know how Steve felt about him, though. Steve was showy enough that the Captain’s love for his husband was unquestionable. There were the sporadic caresses, half-hugs, hair tugs and touches whether they were alone together or in the presence of the rest of the team, but except for that kiss on their picnic date on the landing pad, Steve had never thrown himself at Tony or pressured Tony into any form of physical intimacy._

_Tony actually fell in love with Steve more for that._

_“Good night, Tony,” Steve remarked, making a beeline for the penthouse suite’s guest bedroom after they had just come back from movie night with the rest of the team in the common floor._

_“Steve?” Tony hesitated for all of two heartbeats before calling._

_“Yeah?”_

_“Do you…maybe…want to—ehrm…” Tony mumbled, gesturing towards the general direction of his—their—bedroom. How was he supposed to ask his husband to sleep in the same bedroom beside him when just several weeks ago he practically threw the man out on his ass and screamed at him when he’d tried to calm Tony down after a particularly vicious nightmare?_

_Steve looked at him quizzically. “Is something wrong, Tony?”_

_“No—nothing’s wrong. I just…I was thinking if—maybe—you want to, you know,” Tony rambled on, getting frustrated. He breathed a forceful and resolute sigh and practically screamed at Steve’s face: “sleep with me!” Realizing how weird that must have sounded, he recovered and clarified, “I mean—just sleep in the same room, on the same bed with me…just—just sleep. Just sleep.”_

_“If you want to,” Steve said, his expression a cross between overjoyed and cautious._

_“Well, do_ you _want to?” Tony asked, becoming uncertain himself._

_“I want to—God, I want to. So much,” Steve said, unashamedly. “I miss you so much, Tony…”_

_“I’m sorry,” Tony began. “I’m sorry if—“_

_“Don’t be. You’ve nothing to be sorry about, remember? I’m just…I guess I’m just happy,” Steve said, reaching for Tony’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze and bringing it to his lips for a kiss to the knuckles._

_That, Tony could definitely answer. “Me too,” he said, tightening his fingers around Steve’s and tugging him towards their bedroom to turn in for the night._

_============_

_“Whose brilliant idea is this party, really?” Tony sidled up to Bruce, a flute of bubbly in his hand and an uncertain, tight-lipped smile on his face. Not that he didn’t appreciate having a party sprung on him with all of his supposed friends in attendance, but he just wasn’t in the mood for a party. He hasn’t been sleeping well, having bad dreams every night since leaving the hospital floor. Plus, Rogers—having appropriated the penthouse suite guest room for himself—insisted on pacifying him after every terrible dream by waiting patiently on Tony’s bedroom floor, as far away from Tony as possible, until the latter was boneless enough to not resist the proffered comforting backrubs and murmured words of assurance._

_Tony had to hand it to Rogers, though. He had a stubborn streak on him a mile wide for him to endure getting screamed at with such rage by his supposed husband who couldn’t remember jack shit about having married him. Then again, that stubbornness was both the great thing and the most infuriating thing about Captain America._

_“Actually, we all had the same idea to plan this party for you,” Bruce confirmed. “You really gave all of us quite the scare, you know.”_

_“I think you should know that this is a bit awkward, ‘cause I can’t remember being friends with a third of these people,” Tony said with a snort._

_“Well, some of these people are not really your friends,” Bruce conceded with a shrug. “They’re Steve’s. Come to think of it, this party is just as much for Steve as it is for you.”_

_“Why?”_

_“He would’ve completely lost it if he’d lost you. It wasn’t far-fetched that he would go on a rampage of revenge against each and every one of those who’d been responsible for your abduction. You gave all of us quite the scare; Steve, most of all. He would’ve been absolutely rudderless without you, Tony,” Bruce remarked, his face inscrutable. “And now, you can’t remember being with him—marrying him. He’s distraught, but considering the alternative of losing you, I suppose he thinks this is loads better, so he tries to hide it—his depression—over what’d happened. And I suppose also that he blames himself for not protecting you enough that AIM got to you.”_

_Tony wanted to feel remorse for his crappy treatment of Rogers these past few days, but his system was too full of anger yet. Rage at Rogers for keeping the matter of his parents’ death from him, for tearing the Avengers asunder, for not trusting him—that he had a plan—in the matter of the Sokovia Accords. But more than the rage, there was also the desire to lash out coursing in Tony’s system. This was the only way that Rogers would know, too, how devastated Tony was when the former turned his back on the latter._

“…No matter what, I promise you—if you need us. If you need me, I’ll be there…”

  _Lies._

_And now this—right here. Tony was missing time—what other explanation was there?—and apparently, he and Steve kissed and made up—and got hitched in the process! But everything about that reconciliation was wiped from Tony’s mind, and he was back at square one._

_He suddenly itched to explain to Bruce why he was cagey around Steve. But they haven’t really discussed exactly what Tony could and couldn’t remember. Tony wasn’t even allowed back in his workshop yet, so he just contented himself with looking at the framed pictures on his shelves and the other sketchbooks he had managed to unearth in his—well,_ their _—bedroom._

 _“And I suppose you want me to be—what—_ more accommodating _to him because he, too, is hurting about this whole mess, right?” Tony asked, his expression becoming thunderous with every word._

_Bruce just shrugged and sighed. He knew what Tony was like. Tony had always been the type to march to the beat of his own drum. He had never been the type to do as he was told. And he wasn’t going to change now._

_“Whatever it is you remember Steve doing that’s causing all this animosity from you, it’s only as grave or as incapable of correction as_ you _make it out to be,” Bruce reasoned, hanging his head. “Now if you can’t remember being in a relationship with him—_ marrying him _…at least try to find in your heart that you were friends once and maybe, you can start from there…”_

“…I know I hurt you, Tony. I guessed I thought by not telling you about your parents, I was sparing you. But...I can see now that I was really sparing myself. And I'm sorry. Hopefully one day you can understand…”

 _Bruce was correct, too, in that there was an aloofness and sadness to the Captain that the latter was really exerting effort to try to hide especially here, now, in the midst of all of their friends. Tony always hated it when Bruce was correct. He didn’t want to notice, but then again, when had Tony ever_ not _noticed Rogers? The genius-billionaire recognized that Rogers’ betrayal hurt as much it did because he mattered that much to Tony._

 _Tony had never_ not _noticed Steve Rogers._

_“Is this seat taken?” Tony snapped out of his own deep thoughts and found himself looking into Rogers’ timid face. He had no doubts that had he barked at Rogers to go fuck himself, the blonde was going to respect his need for space and slink away. But that he was just going to come at Tony’s face some other time anyway. Conceding to Rogers’ tenacity, Tony just shrugged, and Rogers planted his behind on the adjacent bar stool with a perspiring bottle of beer in his hand. The party was still in full swing despite the lapse of a couple of hours, but Rogers looked like he had all but exhausted every morsel of his party mood._

_“We thought maybe having some of your other friends over might jog your memory,” Rogers began to explain although Tony wasn’t the least bit interested to know his motivation for greenlighting this party._

_Rogers said a couple more inane things, which made Tony believe that he was only trying to make conversation though either of them weren’t that much into it. When Tony remained obstinately silent throughout Rogers’ monologue, the latter finally ran out of steam and made to stand up, his defeat clearly writ on his drooping shoulders._

_But before Rogers could leave Tony be, the latter suddenly spoke: “that blonde kid—who’s she? I don’t think I have friends who have kids or friends who_ are _kids—‘cause kids don’t like me very much.”_

_“That’s not true. Kids like you. Kids always like Iron Man the most,” answered Steve, a bit taken aback at the ordinariness of Tony’s question. “That’s—um—Cassie Lang. Scott’s kid. She…was a flower girl at our wedding.” Rogers issued a tight-lipped smile and made to leave as he thought Tony wanted but was only too indifferent to ask._

_“Look—Rogers, I don’t have the memories of our—our wedding. Not our relationship, or the engagement—nada, and I don’t think my memories will simply be coaxed into returning no matter how many sad, longing or regretful smiles you give me all day, every day,” Tony said, a tad annoyed. But breathing a conceding sigh, he continued, “but I do remember being_ friends and allies _. So if you can restrain yourself from being all…overprotective-husband on me, maybe we can start again as friends and then, you know, baby steps…“_

_The smile that bloomed on Rogers’ face was stunningly familiar. Or perhaps it was just familiar because of all the love and hope that shone from it._

_“I’d like that, Tony,” Rogers acceded. “So… have you tried the cocktail that Nat mixed especially for this party?”_

_Tony snorted but there was a definite upturn on the corners of his lips. “I’d like to hang on to the memories and the brain cells I still have, so thanks but, no thanks. If I want to be buzzed, I’ll stick to the_ lighter fluid _in Bruce’s labs—that’s actually safer…”_

_Rogers chuckled at that._

_============_

[So… vows. Vows, vows… I was told to prepare for this part and like the self-absorbed a-hole that I am, I thought I could wing it…]

 _The wedding video was as detailed as Tony imagined it would be if Pepper and Natasha had anything to do with it, as Steve had told him. It started with footage of their pre-nuptial photo shoot, which the lifestyle ‘zines probably had a field day over. The video next showed the pre-ceremony preparations—the suits they were going to wear, the venue where they were to exchange their vows—which Steve said was a resort of sorts called the_ The Villa _in Hawaii that Tony’d bought just so they could have their wedding there, and the cocktails and reception areas. Tony Stark spared no expense as he should if he was going to marry someone as amazing as Steve Rogers._

_Footage of their friends’ arrival was next. Then, it was the march of the wedding entourage. Cooper Barton—though a far cry from being a young boy anymore as he was already 12—was the ring bearer; Cassie Lang—radiant in her rose-colored floor-length dress—was the flower girl; Natasha Romanoff, Wanda Maximoff, Pepper Potts, Harley Keener, Happy Hogan and Sam Wilson were the Honor Attendants while Bucky Barnes was Steve’s Best Man and James Rhodes was Tony’s._

_Then it was the grooms’ march. Instead of walking down the center aisle, they were to march down from side aisles—like the arms of a V, meeting in the center gazebo where the minister was. Tony was dashing in a classic black, single-breasted tuxedo with a matching waistcoat, a white silk shirt and white silk bow tie while Steve was stunning in a black Mandarin collar, single-breasted tuxedo with a white silk shirt._

_The minister made his welcome spiel; the wedding ceremony pushed on._

_And then they finally came to the vows; Tony went first._

[…after all I didn’t think there was anything else I needed to say that I haven’t told you yet. I guess…a Thank You is in order. Thank you for being my commander, my best friend, my partner, my North Star, my…everything. Because that’s what you are to me, Steve. You’re my everything. And if there’s anything I would swallow my pride to thank Howard for, it is that he didn’t screw up his part of the Super Soldier Program, to give you the Super Soldier constitution to allow you to travel the seas of time…and find me. And save me…]

_Tony felt his eyes sting. Of course, there was going to be something heart-rending like this; what was he expecting? He doubted he could’ve done better had he been the one delivering these vows._

[…I love you, Steve Rogers. I always have and I always will not because of any reason other than it’s the truth. It’s my truth. And when you’re on the brink of losing patience with me because of my pigheadedness and my illogical avoidance of things that would otherwise make me live longer, just remember that in my core—in my childish, stubborn, imperfect and oftentimes infuriating core—I love you and nothing else matters, nothing else is supposed to make as much sense as that. I don’t need anything else—anyone else at my back, at my side but you. Because I'm not half as good at anything as I am when I'm doing it next to you…]

_Tony stole a quick glance at Steve who was seated beside him. Steve’s blue eyes were glassy. Tony admitted to himself that if he weren’t so anxious about having to break the news of his identity to Steve, he’d probably be bawling his eyes out as well._

_Because wasn’t this just everything he had ever hoped to say to someone he wanted to spend the rest of his life with?_

[…I cannot promise that I’d be better than I am. But I can promise to never tire in striving to be…because you make me want to be better. I cannot guarantee that I’m not broken, but I can promise that all my broken pieces will always love you. I cannot promise that I’d be less stubborn, less sarcastic, less conceited, less difficult or less annoying. But I can promise to never love you any less than I do right now….] _The Tony on-screen mouthed an unmistakable ‘I love you’ before enveloping his beloved in a fierce embrace._

_“You must have really loved him,” Tony mouthed. He was so conflicted. This life was everything he had ever wanted. Steve was the one person he had been waiting for. But this wasn’t his life. And this wasn’t his Steve._

_“You mean you, right? Nothing’s changed, Tony. I love_ you _, and I always will,” Steve answered, squeezing Tony’s hand that the latter had not noticed had been enclosed in Steve’s hand while they were watching the video._

_“I’m not him,” Tony whispered._

_“What—what are you talking about? Tony?”_

_“I’m not your Tony, Steve. I’m not him.”_

_============_

_The orphanage was chaotic but it wasn’t all that difficult to find Steve in all that. They were volunteering for the day along with the other Avengers, and Tony broke off from the bigger group to look for Steve. He found the blonde in a room, no bigger than his own walk-in closet in the penthouse suite, bouncing a baby girl with honey blonde curls on his lap._

_“She’s beautiful,” Tony observed from the doorway, leaning against the doorjamb._

_“Isn’t she?”_

_“What happened to her parents?”_

_Steve stood up and cradled the baby in his powerful arms. “They’re dead. There was an…attack, and the only reason she survived was because she had been under some fallen beams—kept her from being seen. You found her, Tony.”_

_“I did, huh?” Tony didn’t think there was going to be an end to the surprises. “She_ is _beautiful…”_

_“Yeah? Well…she’s going to be ours,” Steve murmured, tracing the side of the baby’s face while she happily gurgled._

_“What?” Tony asked. OK—when Steve said ‘ours’, certainly he couldn’t mean—_

_“We’re trying to adopt her—you and me. And until the adoption process is finalized, she has to stay here. But we visit whenever we can,” Steve said, smirking fondly at the baby._

_“Is that—is that safe?” Tony asked hesitantly. “I mean, considering our job. It’s pretty dangerous. Are—are they going to let us adopt her?”_

_“That was an issue before but we have the team’s full support,” Steve reasoned, gently rocking the baby in his arms. “It also doesn’t hurt that we have your mom backing us. She’s the main benefactor of almost all the shelters in the state so it counts for a lot by way of vouching for us._

_“She needs a home and a family to care for and love her,” Steve said, tearing his gaze away from the baby to steal a glance at his husband._

_“What’s her name?” Tony asked with a small smile._

_“Rebecca,” answered Steve. “She will be Rebecca Stark-Rogers soon.”_

_============_

_“I don’t see why you still don’t remember anything,” complained Bruce. “Your brain chemistry is normal. It doesn’t look like your brain suffered some kind of blunt force trauma. It’s been 2 months, and you’re saying you still don’t remember anything?”_

_Tony was just getting dressed out of his lab gown after having stepped off another session with the MRI machine in Bruce’s play area. And now that Bruce has brought up the matter of Tony’s still lost memories, the latter fell uncharacteristically silent in hesitation._

_“Well, not really ‘anything’… I remember some things. I remember Afghanistan, being Iron Man, I remember Stane and his betrayal. I remember the Avengers, the Chitauri attack, how I carried a nuke into space…” He’s been thinking about it, of course, why he still didn’t have any memories of Steve and out of whack memories of the past couple of years. His mother was freakin’ alive, and he didn’t know how he could’ve bloody missed that!_

_Finally, unable to keep his theories to himself any longer because they were starting to eat at him from the inside, Tony said, “I have some theories…”_

_“Let’s hear them, then,” invited Bruce._

_“Have you, maybe, considered the implications of a multiverse?”_

_“Multiverse, meaning…”_

_“The universe is not composed of only one reality but a multitude of realities—of possibilities, existing side by side. That out there are different versions of Tony Stark and Bruce Banner. That the person that we are here and now is just…one of many,” described Tony. He’d heard of it from Strange. He’d tried finding out the veracity of this through math and logic but he’d not gotten very far yet. It would’ve been better to have Strange there to discuss it with Bruce. But the former was currently off-grid that even JARVIS couldn’t find him._

_“I’ve heard of it. But I haven’t encountered any solid scientific evidence of it but the animated discussions of crackpots even crazier than we are,” Bruce commented with a dismissive shrug. “Why would you think the theory of the multiverse has something to do with your missing memories?”_

_“I think…no, scratch that—I know…I’m not Tony Stark—at least I’m not the Tony Stark of this universe,” Tony stated. And Bruce only scoffed. “No, no—hear me out. It turns out I’m not missing time after all, and you said so yourself I have no physical manifestations of having undergone any traumatic brain injury. The last thing I remember is being sucked in a vortex of_ magic _of the only other person who believes the theory of the multiverse,” declared Tony, splaying his hands out as if to spur Bruce’s categorical agreement to Tony’s hypothesis._

_“I’m not missing memories, Bruce. I just have a different set—“_

_“If this is about_ Ultron _—“_

 _“—I’m responsible for Ultron, by accident—maybe—but it_ was _me—“_

 _“—you didn’t create Ultron, Tony._ Hank _did—“_

 _“In this universe, perhaps, but not in mine. ‘Cause in mine, it was_ me _. I’m responsible for Ultron, for Sokovia…and the shitstorm that followed in its wake.”_

_============_

_“What can I say to change your mind?” Steve murmured against the back of Tony’s hand that he was clutching within his own._

_“Steve… We talked about this already,” Tony said, mildly disapproving. He shifted on the bed to turn his head towards the blonde by his side. “Don’t you want him back?”_

_“But he_ is _you, and you are him,” insisted Steve, his voice muffled by the fact that he still had his lips pressed against the back of Tony’s hand. “What if you’re here because you’re meant to stay here?”_

_“We don’t know that,” Tony answered softly so as to keep his voice from breaking. “I have to go back and fix things. Because we can’t keep being at odds with each other. Not when I know how much more we can accomplish by working together.” It was Tony’s turn to take Steve’s hand and kiss the back of it. Then, shifting where he lay, he turned to the ceiling. “On my go-signal, J, inject my IV with the substance, all right?”_

“As you wish, Sir. Have a safe journey,” _the dulcet and sophisticated tones of JARVIS filled the room._

_============_

_Steve clenched his jaw in such a way that must be hard enough to break his face if not for the Super Soldier Serum. “No,” he said ominously, getting up from the couch and storming off._

_“Steve, please—you have to believe me. You have to understand that this is the only way I can see to get him back,” pleaded Tony, running after the blonde and getting a hold of the latter’s wrist to forcefully yank him to a stop._

_“By injecting yourself with a powerful sedative and induce a comatose—again?!” Steve exploded in anger. “What if there are complications? What if there are complications and you end up dead?!”_

_Tony breathed, resolutely and met the blue eyes of the other man. “Then your Tony can reassume this body once again,” he answered. “It’s the only way, Steve… Bruce and I have already discussed this, brainstormed and experimented—we tried everything. We tried and we failed. This is the only way, believe me.” He tried to get a hold of his emotions so his voice wouldn’t crack._

_“My Tony, my Tony—you keep saying that!—“_

_“Because it’s_ the truth _! Don’t you see?” Tony asked, letting his own rage overtake his melancholy at this whole thing. At this whole fucked-up situation. “Don’t you want the man you fell in love with back?”_

_============_

_The video captured the crowd in attendance ooh-ing and ah-ing in awe at the couple tying the knot before them as the on-screen Steve Rogers pulled the reins on his emotions enough to deliver his own vows._

_“I’ve been meaning to tell you but I needed to map out the science of it with Bruce—I didn’t want to spring half-baked guesses on you, but…it is the most logical explanation,” Tony murmured just a tad louder than the sounds of the video that was still playing. “I’m not the man you fell in love with, Steve. I’m from another dimension.”_

[…thought I’d lost everything. A man out of time… For the longest time, I didn’t know what to do with myself. But you were like a towrope in the middle of an angry sea. Like a candlelight in the darkness. You’re saying I saved you, but Tony—you saved me too…]

_“Another dimension—“ scoffed Steve, a mix of utter disbelief and derision on his handsome face made more distinct by the flickering light of the TV screen._

[…from a life without you. I’m 99 years old—I’ve lived a long life full of struggles and war that, at times, felt too long already. But now, all that keeps running through my head is that—God, please grant me 99 more years to spend with this man—this man that I love more than life itself…]

_“Yes, another dimension. Where I created Ultron and was responsible for Sokovia. And because of that the Sokovia Accords were devised that caused you and me to be at odds with each other. You left the Avengers, dropped your shield and abandoned the mantle of Captain America because of that conflict. In that dimension, Bucky killed both of my parents, and I tried to kill him for revenge. You took his side and abandoned me without a backward glance—“_

_“—no, no, I couldn’t have!—“ Steve was shaking his head, growing more disbelieving with every passing second._

_“—you did—“ Tony interrupted. He could barely hear Steve’s vows above the din of their own voices._

_“—I couldn’t have left you, Tony… I love you,” Steve argued, his voice nearly pleading now._

[…I waited seventy five long years for the right partner. And now that I have him with me, I know I will love him for the rest of my life. I love you with everything that I am, Tony Stark.]

_“Not in my dimension, you don’t,” Tony whispered._

_============_

_“Keep talking to me as I fall asleep, Steve,” requested Tony as he signaled to JARVIS, feeling fingers of fear grip his heart for the first time since he resolved to do something to be able to get back. “Tell me about our last time in The Villa; tell me about Rebecca. Just…keep talking to me…”_

_And Steve did, although his usual baritone became shakier as he talked like Tony had asked him to. And all the while, Tony’s breathing became even and his eyelids steadily drooped even while he fought to fend off sleep._

_“I…I lo—I love…” Tony murmured, his grip on Steve’s hand becoming slack._

_“Tony… Tony…”_

_“Yes?” He couldn’t fall asleep yet. He needed one last look at the man he was leaving behind._

_============_

_Steve angrily wriggled his wrist out of Tony grasp. By the looks of him, he wanted to punch something into a million tiny shards. “If you’re not him, then where is he—the man I fell in love with?”_

_“Bruce and I believe that his consciousness may still be in this body, deep in stasis, or—or he’s the one in mine back in my dimension,” Tony hurried to explain, fighting to keep hold of Steve’s arm._

_“This is bullshit,” Steve muttered. The Captain didn’t curse often, so the words sounded just wrong coming out of his mouth. “What makes you think that you’re not him—that you’re from—what—another dimension?!”_

_Tony huffed, frustrated. “I don’t_ think _I’m not him; I_ know _I’m not him. I’m not the Tony you fell in love with, not the Tony you married… I’m sorry, Steve.”_

_Steve’s face cleared a bit as if those words made him realize something vital. “In this dimension where you come from, were you also kidnapped in Afghanistan where you made the first Iron Man from scraps?”_

_“Yes, but—“_

_“—and the Chitauri attacked also, and to end the fight, you carried an incoming nuke through the portal knowing it might be something you’re not walking away from?”_

_“Yes, b—“_

_“—and despite being responsible for Sokovia, you went there to right your mistakes and save it from Ultron, risking life and limb to do it?”_

_“Yes, but Steve—“_

_“Do you love me?” Steve blurted out and Tony inwardly staggered in surprise at the question._

_“What—“_

_“Just answer the question, Tony,” Steve pleaded, blue eyes shining with something indefinable. “Right here. Right now… Do you? Do you love me?”_

_“Yes,” Tony admitted. And this, letting Steve know about this, letting this life go, made his decision to try to find a way back to his own universe all the more painful._

_Steve stepped close to Tony and cradled the side of his head with a gentle hand. “Then you might not be the man I married. But you are still the man I fell in love with.”_

_============_

_“Always remember that in this universe and in all the universes there are, we are meant to be together. I love you, Shellhead…”_

Tony opened his eyes to the smooth cement ceiling of Strange’s bunker. His eyes hurt; his lower lip hurt and was even—possibly—bleeding. His chest _fucking_ hurt. Stuffy nose, check. Scratchy throat, check. Stinging eyes, check. Wet face, check. He was not going to admit it even on pain of death, but he must have been crying. All the signs pointed to it.

He didn’t know what he was supposed to do now. Before this whole regression mess, he just wanted the slivers of those ghost memories gone—erased. But now…

How could he possibly banish from his mind the only time he had ever been stupid happy? So happy that there was nothing more he could want in his life. He must have been barking mad to let all of that go.

“Did he get him back—Steve…did he—did he get his Tony back?” Tony choked out his question for Strange.

“Yes, he did,” Strange confirmed in his enigmatic voice. “You were right, he was in stasis in the same body.”

Tony stayed how he lay on the couch, boneless, but asked again, “why weren’t you there? Where were you?”

“I was here, looking after things while you were gone, looking for where you could’ve ended up in,” Strange was uncharacteristically forthcoming with his responses. Tony was expecting answers in fucking riddles. “There’s only one me in all the universes—possibilities, really.”

“That’s convenient,” Tony spat, secretly trying to brush tear stains from his face.

There was silence. Tony didn’t know if it was a comfortable one or a tense one. He didn’t know how to deal with Strange now. They shared something now. Something sacred.

“Were they able to adopt her—Rebecca?” Tony asked, breaking the silence.

“Yes.”

“So they lived happily after,” Tony mused, heart breaking anew. It was somewhat comforting to know that not every Tony Stark in every universe was as miserable as he was.

“Their story isn’t over yet, you know,” Strange commented, with a bemused smile. “And neither is yours.” After another beat, Strange asked again. “Anthony…do you still want to get rid of your memories from that other dimension?”

Ah, the loaded question. He wanted to answer in such a way that would surprise Strange, but the cryptic sorcerer was probably beyond any type of surprises even from Tony Stark. Finally urging his muscles to move, Tony sat up on the couch, planted his elbows on his knees and breathed a deep sigh.

“No.” Tony thought he could keep them—the memories. He wanted to, now. They were the only things he has of a time and place—of a _love_ —that was not his own but where and when he had been the happiest he had ever been. Or would ever be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I made use of Bruce's voice of reason in the only part of the story I could. I love Bruce. Not as much as Rhodey, but--yeah--I love Bruce's voice of reason...
> 
> Don't forget to leave your sentiments about the story so far; I would love to hear them!


	16. 16. BUCKY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky gets his arm adjusted after Tony gets back from his birthday vacay. He tries to invite the genius for a belated birthday celebration. Will he be shot down in the worst way or will Tony surprise them all?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update that's right on time--yiippeeee!!! So I'd like to wish everyone a great weekend, in advance. Although today is Friday the 13th, I hope we wouldn't let this dampen our high hopes for a great weekend ahead!
> 
> This chapter picks up on the events a day after Tony's birthday, so we will get to see the characters' reactions to some of the plot points that have unfolded in the previous chapters. Let me know in the Comments if the reactions pleased you, surprised you, made you suspicious, moved you, or just made you want to spur me along to write faster. Hahahah!!! 
> 
> You cannot imagine how much I want to finish this story already so we could all be put out of our misery as to who ends up with whom and how all their shit gets resolved! But Imma need more of your patience as I think we still have a quite a journey ahead of us... In the meantime, though, you can let me know what you think (or try bribing me to write faster) in the Comments.
> 
> So...without further ado, I present you with the 16th! Enjoy, my lovelies!  
> \---

****Bucky violently shuddered awake, automatically bringing his cybernetic arm close to his face seemingly to protect it from some kind of attack. His forehead and neck were wet with sweat and his back, flesh arm and legs were riddled with gooseflesh. He could still feel his limbs shaking and his lungs heaving with every shallow inhale of breath.

“ _Your name is James Buchanan Barnes, former Sergeant who’d served in the 107th of the United States Army during the Second World War. Born on March 10, 1917. You are currently in the Avengers facility in upstate New York. The date is May 30, 2017, and the time is 3:57 in the morning. Please try to calm down, Sergeant. You have accelerated heart rate and irregular breathing patterns. You may be experiencing a panic attack. Would you like me to alert Captain Rogers?_ ” FRIDAY offered, changing her usual spiel a bit for whenever Bucky had one of these panic attack-inducing night terrors.

“No, I—I’m fine, FRIDAY. I’m all right,” Bucky reassured the omniscient AI near breathlessly. After a beat, he continued, “Fry? Can you show me footage of Tony singing again? I—I just…it calms me.” He grimaced inwardly at how fragile his voice sounded.

“ _Of course, Sergeant,_ ” indulged FRIDAY, bringing up a holo-screen almost immediately of Tony Stark bent over the hood of a vintage-looking car with a multi-directional wrench in one hand and long-nosed pliers in the other, hitting the air with them like he would a drum set, in time with the music jarring the entire space that was his workshop.

“ _I've been roaming around, always looking down at all I see. Painted faces, fill the places I can't reach,_ ” the voice in the video footage sang loud, clear and strong above the din of the accompanying music, and as if cued, Bucky closed his eyes to drink all the sound in. “ _You know that I could use somebody. You know that I could use somebody… Someone like you…_ ”

He tried not to think about the frustration and disappointment in Jim’s face when he announced that Tony’s surprise birthday party was off because Tony’d spirited himself away in the night. He fought to drive the sadness and dashed hopes in Steve’s eyes out of his mind as well. It didn’t do to be weighed down by so many concerns that would only impede his recovery, not to mention, cause him even more sleepless nights like he wasn’t already finding it difficult as it was to catch some sleep.

But his willpower was only so strong. It was damn near impossible not to think about those who were undoubtedly and currently the most important people in Bucky’s life: Tony and Steve.

He found himself sharing Jim Rhodes’ frustration at Tony’s erratic behavior because he’d seen what Tony was really like in the few times Bucky was in Tony’s turf and had had the cybernetic arm adjusted—he knew that Tony could be approachable, chatty, funny and whip smart. So the birthday surprise party snub from the understated billionaire came completely out of left field that Bucky was overcome with disappointment himself even before he could get a hold of his own emotions.

And _Steve_ was of the belief that _he_ was to blame for Tony’s aloofness because of the Sokovia Accords and Siberia debacle! But if that _was_ the case, then Bucky, himself, must be partly responsible for Tony’s coldness towards the team. Because—hey!—it was Bucky who’d murdered Tony’s parents and his being involved was the reason why—Bucky assumed—Steve kept the self-same information from Tony which caused this whole shitstorm.

On top of all that, Steve came clean to Bucky about what must be an eighty-five-year-long—if not longer!—secret love and one-sided pining for him that shocked him to his very core. Because if that didn’t shock him, really, nothing else ever would!

To think that just last month, he couldn’t even remember when he was supposed to celebrate his own damn _birthday_ , now he had all these infinitely more complicated concerns that he didn’t know how to make heads or tails of…

“ _Off in the night, while you live it up, I'm off to sleep. Waging wars to shape the poet and the beat. I hope it's gonna make you notice…I hope it's gonna make you notice,_ ” the voice filling his ears and calming his inner tempests kept on singing. “ _Someone like me… Someone like me…_ ”

Bucky shifted where he lay to stay on his right side—tucking his flesh arm against the side of his head and keeping his eyes closed even though he’d pretty much accepted the glaring fact that there was no way he was going back to sleep. His noisy thoughts had made sure of that.

In all honesty, Bucky didn’t know what compelled him to reject Steve’s advances, so to speak. There was the ever-pressing issue of his current rehabilitation, true. Then again, Steve was basically the center of Bucky’s life—always had been. So to decide to bring their relationship to a whole new level, especially now during the twenty-first century that was kinder to things like that, wouldn’t really be the least bit startling. Bucky supposed if he had ever seriously considered being attracted to fellas before, then he couldn’t do better than goddamn _Captain America_ , could he?!

It was just that…

Bucky had _never_ seriously considered the possibility before. He had only ever went out on dates with dames before, only ever tried wooing dames before, only ever got frisky enough with dames in the past. And then the war happened, during which he got more preoccupied with staying alive. Then, he fell off that train, was found by the Soviet arm of HYDRA, and was gradually erased to make room for the Winter Soldier. Attraction and the idea of love just kinda took a back seat—way, way, _way_ back.

Now that he was free—or as free as a recovering brainwashed former POW in the protection of a group of bad-ass superheroes could get, he was being presented with the idea. The idea that he could like someone— _anyone_ , really—regardless of their gender, and Steve should be it—his first choice, his logical choice, his _only choice_. Only, he felt like he would only be settling, and it wasn’t right or fair to Steve and to himself.

He didn’t want to have to choose Steve simply because Steve happened to be there, or Steve has always been a safe option or—worse, because he didn’t feel like he had any choice at all _but_ to be with Steve. He might not be an authority but somehow, he didn’t think love worked like that.

Bucky was afraid, too. He was afraid that the blonde only loved the Bucky he could remember, the Bucky that Steve believed was still buried deep, deep down that would take over this body again one day, the _undamaged Bucky_. The Bucky he was never going to revert back to because while something broken could be repaired, it couldn’t ever be un-broken. He was never going to be the old Bucky. Never again. He could recover; he could make up for his mistakes; he could assuage his guilt. But the Bucky that would be looking back at him every time he was in front of a looking glass? It was already the Bucky that was the hodgepodge of everything good and unfortunate that had ever happened in his long life.

Bucky was just doubtful if Steve had realized _that_ already.

So right now, Bucky was going to have to let Steve down easy. This was better for both of them.

“ _I've been roaming around, always looking down at all I see…_ ”

Bucky’s uneasiness while thinking about Steve’s confession in the safety and isolation of his room was nothing compared to the brunette’s disquiet when he first came upon Steve, fresh from his usual morning jog, in the kitchen, preparing breakfast as he always did.

“Heya Buck, morning,” Steve greeted, momentarily wrestling his attention away from the bacon frying in his pan, like nothing basically earth-shattering had happened between them last night.

Bucky mumbled something unintelligible in reply. What was he expecting? That Steve was going to be blushing every time he and Bucky shared a space together? Bucky ought to know Steve by now that the latter could be dispassionate about the whole letting-his-best friend-who-was-secretly-in-love-with-him-down-easy business. If Steve assured that nothing was going to change between them because of The Confession, then Bucky had better take Captain America’s damn word for it.

“Slept well?” Bucky recovered his composure by asking, planting his behind on a chair by the dining table and pouring himself chocolate milk from the carton that he assumed was fresh out of the fridge judging by beads of condensation on its body.

“Sure,” conceded Steve, still focused on his frying meats on the pan. “You?” He stole another quick glance at the only other occupant of the kitchen.

“As well as could be expected,” cryptically answered Bucky. “Do we have a BARF session today?”

“I think so. Why?”

“My arm’s due for an adjustment. I’m supposed see Tony today,” said Bucky, then, looking up out of habit, asked FRIDAY, “Fry, when is my new adjustment schedule if Tony won’t be back until tonight?”

“ _Mr. Stark got back at 2152 last night and is currently asleep in his quarters. I will be sure to ask him about your adjustment schedule as soon as he wakes up, Sergeant,_ ” FRIDAY reported.

“Tony was back last night?” Bucky asked, mildly surprised, and looked to Steve more out of instinct than any real need to see the latter’s own reaction to the news that Tony was back, apparently just as suddenly as he had gone.

“ _Yes, Sergeant._ ”

“Does Rhodes know he’s back then? Does anyone else?” Steve decided to join in on the conversation. His brows were furrowed to showcase just the right amount of curiosity and concern.

“ _Dr. Strange knows of Mr. Stark’s return. They had tea together in the doctor’s bunker last night until Mr. Stark decided to turn in for bed at close to 0200 this morning,_ ” conveyed the AI.

Instead of appeasing Steve’s disquiet, however, Bucky watched his friend’s face go from mildly disbelieving to downright doubtful about FRIDAY’s report. “What?” Bucky mouthed at the other man. “What’s wrong, Stevie?”

“It’s just… There are so many things that seem… _weird_ about that,” Steve began, pinching his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger. “For one thing, Tony actually _sleeping_ in his bedroom without being bribed, cajoled or tricked into doing it is highly unusual; and the fact that _Stephen_ is the first person that Tony would hang out with upon returning—I mean, Rhodes is his best friend; why not go to him first? Unless…”

“Unless what?” Bucky prompted, feeling the contagion of Steve’s disquiet.

Something meaningful passed on Steve’s face but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. Shaking his head and blinking as if to knock himself out of whatever state of mind he had just been in, Steve responded, “n—nothing. Nothing. It’s just…highly irregular, that’s all.”

Bucky knew Steve well and long enough to be able to tell that he was a shit liar. And it didn’t take a rocket scientist to know that Steve was lying now. He knew something—something about the reason for the supposed irregularities in Tony’s behavior. But there was no use pressing the issue right now. Bucky was just going to have to find out for himself. Finding out was going to be tricky, however, because Bucky was sure that Tony would just be as mum about the whole deal as Steve was.

“FRIDAY, if I call for an impromptu training on partner dynamics this morning, who would be able to attend?” Steve suddenly asked after he’d placed everything he had cooked on the table in steaming serving plates, ready for consumption.

“ _Ms. Romanoff and Mr. Wilson, Ms. Maximoff and Vision, and Mr. Lang and Col. Rhodes are all in the compound and with a free morning block in their schedules, Captain. Should I inform them of a partner drill then?_ ”

“You know what? On second thought, might not be a good idea if Buck has a BARF schedule,” reconsidered Steve with a shrug, beginning to shovel food onto his plate with an expression on his face that was both contemplative and, at the same time, trying his hardest not to appear so.

Bucky knew Steve well and long enough to be able to know, too, that the seemingly innocuous question about who was available for partner drills was purposeful, and that Steve now knew something that he thought Bucky wouldn’t be able to catch up on. He may be partly correct because Bucky, on the whole, was still in the dark about Tony, Strange, the partner drills and the relationship of it all, but he, at the very least, knew something was _definitely_ up.

The former Sergeant was still consumed by curiosity, later that day, as he made his way to Tony’s workshop bearing a tray of pasta marinara that he’d cooked himself and iced coffee, and the Iron Man origami stand-in that the team had all pitched in to make. He waited for what seemed like half a minute in the elevator before the doors opened to Tony’s workshop.

The genius’ workspace was in its typical state of bustling activity without any indication that its usual occupant had left for the other side of the world 48 hours previously. Yet in all that chaos, Bucky easily located the person he had come down there for.

Tony was seated on a swivel chair, left leg tucked underneath the right, and fixatedly looking up at three panels of holo-screens that displayed lines upon lines of coding. There was an ergonomic keyboard on his lap over which his fingers were furiously flying. He looked busy, but at least he didn’t look tired, and his laidback dark blue hoodie on top of a plain white shirt, ripped and faded denim jeans and black high-cut sneakers complemented the healthier glow about him, of a person who’d just had precious moments spent sunbathing on the beach.

He left the origami stand-in by the elevator in DUM-E’s care and proceeded purposefully towards where the genius was, immersed in his work.

“Busy?” Bucky asked by way of a greeting, hesitating whether to place the tray of food on the table nearest to Tony in case he was awarded a curt brush-off. “FRIDAY gave me clearance to come down for my arm adjustment, but if you’re busy, I can come back later,” he offered without waiting for a response from Tony.

“No, no—it’s fine,” said Tony, wheeling the swivel chair to face him. A corner of the genius’ lips quirked up into a small and quick half-smile. “Still intent on making sure I don’t starve to death, huh? What’s on the menu today?”

“Just…some pasta and iced coffee,” Bucky said, as always wanting to downplay his self-imposed mission to make sure Tony was eating substantial and semi-regular meals. “So… Ha—happy birthday—or, I guess, _belated_ happy birthday. We missed you yesterday. We…sort of had a surprise party planned,” continued the newcomer with a thin-lipped smile, placing the tray of food on the table within Tony’s reach. It wasn’t meant to guilt-trip the other man, but merely to inform him. But if Tony _would_ feel a degree of remorse for having missed the party, then Bucky thought that would be a bonus.

“Yeah, I heard,” Tony remarked with the slightest of cringes on his face. “Rhodey chewed me out about that. But you know, in my defense, I’ve never had one—a surprise party—so I couldn’t have known that you guys were even _planning_ something,” contended Tony, raising a hand in a placating gesture. “’s too bad that I missed it.”

The recovering amnesiac supposed that that was the closest to an apology one could get from Tony Stark. He pursed his lips in amusement, counting it as a win. “I would’ve gotten you something, but I wasn’t sure what you’d like—“

“Oh there’s no need for that,” Tony waved him off towards another wheeled stool, dismissively. “Believe me, this—“ he said, gesturing towards the newest tray of food, “—is a fine enough birthday gift. Did you cook this yourself?” He started fiddling with the plate of pasta using the fork, a mildly-impressed look on his face.

Sitting on a wheeled stool and dragging it closer to Tony with his feet, Bucky shrugged noncommittally but inwardly preened at what he thought was a compliment disguised somewhere in that statement. “Yeah—well—I can only put together so many different types of sandwiches, can I? I can cook actual food, too, you know. Least I can do for everything you’ve done for me.”

“Don’t mention it,” Tony said, graciously accepting Bucky’s gratitude in the form of its expression. “By the way, how’re the BARF sessions coming along?” Tony segued, sneaking in a mouthful of pasta and, while he appreciatively chewed, wheeling closer to Bucky to begin inspecting the arm.

“Can’t say they’re great, but the sessions are a big help,” interposed Bucky, watching as Tony whipped out a precision screwdriver from the back pocket of his jeans to begin tinkering with the arm in earnest. “I think we have another session later today or maybe tomorrow… Will you be there?” Bucky wanted to be casual about that last inquiry, and he thought he nailed it. Tony didn’t have to know how eager he was to hear the reply.

Tony’s intense and arresting brown eyes studied the arm like it was the center of his universe, and his deft fingers had a panel of the arm open and a tool in its innards. But he still managed to say: “if there’s a glitch, I will be. Otherwise, I’m not really needed there, and if it’s tomorrow, I think I may actually have a… _thing_ to go to tomorrow.”

Bucky wrestled with himself not to look too disappointed at Tony’s reply. He decided to just let it roll off his back and try again. “So you’re free _today_?” If it came right down to it, Bucky was just as impossibly stubborn as Steve was.

“I didn’t say _that_ ,” denied Tony with a curious arch of an eyebrow.

And before Tony could make further excuses or retreat back into his shell, Bucky plowed on: “—no, but…it’s just that—we have a lot of leftovers from your cancelled birthday party yesterday, so you know—if you’re free today, maybe you can join us for dinner? I mean, the food _was_ supposed to be for you; there’s even a three-tiered cake, and ‘sides there’s nothing weird about celebrating your birthday a day later, right?” He tried not to sound desperately persuasive even though that was exactly how he felt. He still had one more card to play, however, if Tony still proved to be hard-headed: _the Jim Rhodes card_. Tony would want to make it up to his best friend for leaving him hanging out to dry, right?

Bucky silently pled with the powers-that-be, though, for Tony to see it Bucky’s way and agree to dinner with the rest of the team as a belated celebration of his birthday. He was thinking of both his promise to Steve that he would help the latter soften Tony up and his own, personal desire to share a meal with his newfound family with _all_ its members accounted for.

Tony pointedly met his eyes with an intensity Bucky had never seen in those arresting brown orbs before. The scrutiny felt like he was being undressed. But he didn’t buckle; he met those eyes head-on and refused to look away. Something flashed in those eyes—something alien even to Bucky who’d studied those luminous brown eyes countless times before, but as it resembled nothing like the guardedness that was a constant feature to Tony when put on the spot like this, Bucky welcomed it—all the while sending telepathic urging for Tony to say yes.

Tony was first to break eye contact in favor of returning his attention to the plate of pasta to sneak in a few more mouthfuls of it. Still chewing, Tony stole a glance at him again. Pursing his lips, shrugging and gesturing evasively, Tony finally spoke: “I g—well…I guess, uh, dinner’s—yeah, sure. Dinner… Dinner’s fine…”

The genius sounded like he was regretting it even as he was saying the words. But it didn’t matter; Bucky was elated. So elated he wanted to pump his fists in the air. “Great! And—you know, as something extra, or—or as _additional motivation_ to join us for dinner, just let me know what you feel like eating and I’ll cook it for you,” promised Bucky. He could feel his face exhibiting a full-on grin of unmistakable excitement.

That got Tony chuckling in amusement. He replaced the access panels on Bucky’s cybernetic arm with a small smirk. “I thought we’re eating the leftovers?”

“Well—yeah, but I don’t want you getting cold feet on dinner, so I’m thinking if you’ve got cravings, then I can cook whatever you feel like eating on top of the leftovers.”

Tony shrugged again, opened and closed his mouth, hemmed and hawed, uncharacteristically at a loss. He sputtered playfully before he said, “Anything—pasta!”

“What kind of pasta?”

“Surprise me,” Tony said with a slight shake of his head, probably disbelieving his own decision to come to dinner with the rest of the team.

Bucky flipped two thumbs up and said, “swell!” Then, bolting out of his seat like lightning and hurrying to where he’d stashed the Iron Man origami stand-in with DUM-E, he continued, “by the way, before I forget. This is for you.” He gingerly placed the origami figure standing at almost two feet high in front of the still-seated Tony. “It was supposed to be a party decoration. _Steve_ designed it, thinking it would be cool. The whole team pitched in with the paper folding.”

Tony looked surprised, then amused, then impressed, a fond smile slowly blooming on his handsome face as he studied the intricate origami figure. “Whoa… it _is_ cool.”

“I’ll let you finish that tray then, and I’ll see you later, Tony,” Bucky said by way of a parting greeting with a wave of his cybernetic hand.

“Yeah,” Tony succinctly called back towards Bucky’s retreating back. “Don’t make me regret saying yes, Barnes!”

The former Sergeant fought down a grin, wishing that he could walk faster, back to the kitchen. He itched to finish icing the cake, start on the pasta, re-heat the leftovers and see the pleased surprise on everyone’s faces once they found out who was coming for dinner.

-0-0-0-

“I thought we’d be having the leftovers for dinner?” Sam asked with a hint of astonishment, entering the dining area closely followed by Natasha, Wanda and Scott. He turned his head this way and that, eyeing the heaping serving plate of freshly-cooked seafood pesto pasta and the fully-iced birthday cake at the center of the table that Bucky himself had set up.

“We are,” Bucky answered, putting a stack of plates on the kitchen counter nearest the table. He had set up so that all the food is on serving plates around the dining table with little room for anyone to eat there and opt for the spacious living area in front of the television instead.

He thought a buffet-style dinner where there would be more space and opportunity for everyone to mingle with everyone else instead of a more intimate sit-down one would be less stifling for Tony. It was already a miracle that Bucky even got Tony to agree to dinner with the team in the first place that the former asset didn’t want to have to overwhelm the genius-billionaire by enforcing their company on him around the dining table.

The postponement of his BARF session for the day due to the upgrade of the computer infrastructure of the medical building proved to be a blessing in disguise as he’d had ample time to finish the cake, cook Tony’s requested food and re-heat the other food and make everything presentable. At some point during the course of the day, he’d engaged the help of Vision and a fresh-from-school Peter for some of the preparation while the others were busy with official Avengers business.

“Yet you still cooked pasta,” observed Sam, reaching for the serving plate to sneak a noodle to nibble on when he was strongly discouraged by Natasha with a stern hum and a disapproving stare. Wisely, Sam pulled his hand back.

“ _And_ finished icing the cake,” observed Wanda with a knowing twinkle in her eye.

“Well… You never know who’s coming for dinner,” Bucky answered animatedly, clapping his hands once and rubbing them together in barely-concealed anticipation.

If Sam, Wanda, Nat and Scott found that statement cryptic, they didn’t show it.

He watched the others slowly trickle in, barely listening to their conversations, when he noticed something. “Hey, uh, guys? Where’s Steve?”

Sam was in the middle of shoveling food on to his own plate when Bucky asked the question. “He got called in at SHIELD HQ—spur of the moment. I think they have concerns about the training program for their new recruits,” answered Sam. “He’ll be right along,” he followed up with an assurance to Bucky.

Bucky ate with his lower back propped against the kitchen counter while he held his loaded plate with his mechanical arm, beginning to feel tense with every minute that passed that Tony was a no-show. For an anxious five minutes, Bucky entertained the possibility that Tony was going to pull another stunt like what he’d done on his birthday until Jim pointed out that Bucky was starting to look menacing with a murdering scowl on his face.

And then Tony was there, wide-eyed and hesitant on the topmost step of the stairs.

“Tones…” Jim remarked, noticing his friend there.

“So… I heard there were supposed to be leftovers from some asshole’s cancelled birthday party…” Tony trailed off, an unreadable expression on his face. He looked like he was ready to bolt just as much as he was ready to join the rest of them for the meal. Bucky guessed Tony’d prepared himself for either eventuality, and considering how full of pride Tony was, he was probably more prepared to be shut out than be welcomed into the fold.

But Tony really didn’t have anything to worry about, as the dining area and adjacent living area all erupted into loud and welcoming cheers for him.

“Here he is—the birthday boy!—“

“—hey Tony, happy birthday, man!—“

“—nice tan, Stark!—“

“—many happy returns, Mr. Stark—“

“—we missed you for your surprise party yesterday—“

“— _sretan rođendan_ , Stark—“

Tony met Bucky’s eyes from across the expanse of the dining area and nodded once with a thin-lipped smile. He graciously accepted pats on the shoulder, handshakes and a surprise full-on embrace from Natasha before he made it to the end of the table closest to Bucky.

“You made it,” observed Bucky, lop-sided grin firmly in place.

“Someone promised cake,” Tony said with a mock serious expression.

“Oh there’s cake, all right. And I hope you like oil-based pasta as much as you like pasta marinara,” informed Bucky with a self-conscious scratch to the nape of his neck.

“Love it,” guaranteed Tony with an unmistakable and genuine smile this time that just about lit his face up.

It was Jim who happily showed Tony where the plates and silverware were so he could get some food. The two hung about the dining table, sitting on the periphery while the rest of their party dispersed to the living area to see what was on TV, but every time someone wanted to reload their plates, they made it a point to hang around for a bit to catch the tail-end of any conversation of the table’s hangers-on that they could. There was still a bit of tension, but on the whole, everyone was happy enough that Tony could join them.

None were happier than Jim and Peter, though, who regaled Tony with story after story, anecdote after anecdote as the three of them stayed near the dining table.

Tony started to badger Jim into forgiving him for spending his birthday somewhere else without telling Jim about it. At first, Jim was steadfast, face deadpan in the midst of Tony’s wordy and lengthy groveling.

“Try again, Stark,” Jim challenged, keeping to his resolve not to forgive his best friend’s trespasses. “I’m not even half-moved. Grovel harder.” Jim sneered and Peter snorted.

That was before Tony unleashed _The Puppy Dog Eyes_ ®. Bucky joined Peter in raucous laughter as Jim audibly groaned.

“Not the eyes, Tones. You’re not seriously giving me the puppy dog eyes!”

“I’m not above employing the puppy dog eyes if it means you’ll forgive me.” Tony pouted in an over-the-top way while still giving his best friend the full brunt of those adorable, hard-to-say-no-to, huge brown eyes.

Bucky was not really justified in holding a grudge for Tony’s birthday snub, himself, but grudge or no, Bucky knew there was _no way_ he could not forgive Tony for anything if he had those eyes—those big, _beautiful_ eyes—looking right at him.

Tony Stark could demolish landmarks with those eyes.

Bucky tried to be unobtrusive in hanging back around the dining table, too. There was no other description but that he was captivated by Tony’s child-like eagerness and playfulness in the presence of his family. Tony could deny it to the high heavens but Bucky saw it plain as day: Tony had missed this. Tony Stark had missed his family. And maybe with this, the first step to regaining whatever it was they’d lost, they could start to become the family that they used to be again.

“Fine, fine, fine! You know perfectly well that there’s no way I can resist the eyes,” Jim grudgingly conceded with a half-exasperated, half-amused shake of his head.

Tony pumped a fist in the air and gave Jim a loud, sloppy kiss on the cheek.

Dr. Strange later caught up with them, explaining that he had just come from Bleecker and greeting Tony a happy birthday. It wasn’t lost on Bucky when Strange and Tony shared brief and meaningful eye contact before Jim was asking the tardy doctor if what it was that demanded his presence in his New York sanctum was potentially world-ending.

“It was nothing so alarming as to demand the involvement of the Avengers,” Strange assured, appreciatively shoveling more pasta on his plate. “This is _really_ good pasta, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Bucky accepted the compliment, bashfully lowering his gaze to the plate he still held in hand.

A hush suddenly fell, halting the on-going conversations around the dining table, and Bucky looked up to find Steve standing on the exact place where Tony’d stood earlier. There was a mixture of surprise, gladness and hope emblazoned on the Captain’s face at seeing Tony in the team’s company.

“Hi Tony,” Steve greeted with a pleased nod.

“Cap,” for his part, Tony acknowledged. There was still a bit of tension in the line of Tony’s jaw, but for the most part, the brunette’s face remained neutral.

“Belated happy birthday,” continued the blonde, unmoving from where he stood.

“Thank you,” Tony answered, with a quick flick of his tongue to lick his lips. It was he who looked away first to pick up any conversation that Peter may have left hanging before the Captain walked in.

Bucky was quick to sidle up to Steve with a plate and silverware. “Go ahead and eat, Stevie,” Bucky urged, giving the blonde a slight nudge towards the buffet table and Tony’s general direction.

The former HYDRA asset watched his friend take his time in getting some food, stealing surreptitious glances towards Tony as if disbelieving his eyes that Tony was really there in their midst. But that wasn’t the full extent of the peculiarity of that picture as Bucky noticed Strange hanging back as well, preferring to get small servings of the excellent pasta instead of a substantial one. Strange tried to be discreet about it, too—his scrutiny of the encounter between Steve and Tony, but he couldn’t get it past Bucky’s watchful eye.

Now, Bucky was certain there really _was_ something there… What _was_ it, though?

Once Steve had gotten his food, he went to stand beside Bucky to eat.

“How was your business with SHIELD?” Bucky asked under his breath. “Sam mentioned it. I hope it went well.”

“It was OK. They just wanted an unofficial consultation,” Steve whispered back. “How ever did Rhodes convince Tony to have dinner with us?” Steve, leaning towards Bucky, asked in a low voice, but even that couldn’t mask his pleased surprise.

“Actually—“ Bucky began to explain with a giddy grin, when he was interrupted.

“—I have to go,” Tony suddenly blurted out, standing up unceremoniously. His eyes were downcast and his mouth was set in a tight line. “I—uh—I remember I left some simulations cooking in the workshop—“

That sounded like a steaming pile of _bull_ , all right. And everyone within hearing distance of Tony’s excuse to leave must have thought so as well, judging by moans of protest from the other team members.

“B—but…you haven’t even had cake yet,” commented Bucky. He wanted to keep the complaint out of his voice. But that was exactly what he wanted to do. He wanted to _complain_. Things were already going so smoothly. Bucky wondered what might have triggered this sudden 180.

Tony breathed a loaded sigh. “If it’s all the same to you, Barnes, I’ll just take some downstairs with me. I just… I really need to be going now,” Tony said, a hint of apology in his tone. “Thanks for the party, though, everyone… I had fun.” Tony addressed his thanks to each and every one of the team then present, but his eyes were focused on Bucky.

Peter scrambled to his feet to slice Tony a hefty segment of cake and transfer it to a plate. Tony mumbled his thanks and made for the stairwell, passing by where Bucky and Steve stood—Bucky, wordlessly wrestling with his disappointment and Steve, forgetting he was even eating in the first place.

“Thanks for the origami stand-in, Cap. It was…really something,” Tony said, biting his lower lip between his teeth as a substitute for a smile. Those arresting eyes remained downcast, however.

“Oh you have it?”

“Yeah.” He smiled for real that time, momentarily meeting Steve’s gaze. For Bucky who had witnessed it, though, the smile looked sad and full of regret, and it was gone in the blink of an eye to be replaced by inexplicable blankness.

“You’re welcome, Tony,” Steve barely answered before the genius was moving again towards the stairwell with purposeful strides.

And then Tony was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _sretan rođendan_ = Serbian/Croatian for Happy Birthday. Thank you to VanillaFive for the correction.


	17. 17. STEVE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve corners Strange to demand answers about Tony's memory issues? Will Strange tell him anything? A surprise encounter follows. Will friends turned strangers become friends again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's FRIDAY and it's a beautiful day for an update!!! I hope you guys had a great week and if you didn't then keep your chin up because then a great weekend may be in the cards for you.
> 
> So... Steve gets to talk to Strange finally. What will he find out, I wonder? Also, at the risk of our plot becoming stagnant when it comes to the Stony angle of our love triangle, I would have to throw you all a bone just to get us to inch forward. This is a far cry from the MASSIVE confrontation that's coming but as the Stucky angle has considerably jumped forward and the StarkBucks angle is also moving at a steady pace, I thought the Stony part could start moving a bit, too. Let me know what you think by hitting those Kudos and Comment buttons. I love me some healthy discussions about the rigors of earning forgiveness and how far we'd all be willing to go to earn the forgiveness of a friend we'd hurt badly...
> 
> If there are any plot inconsistencies, typos, unforgivable grammar lapses on my part, do let me know, please, as this is still unbeta-edited.
> 
> Happy Friday and Enjoy y'all!!!  
> \---

****The dining area was so silent after Tony had gone that Steve thought he could almost hear Peter gulp. It was a while before conversation began to pick up again as those who were momentarily drawn back to the dining area because of Tony’s sudden departure started to trickle back to the living area in front of the TV and resume what they were watching.

Steve was nowhere near full but he’d suddenly lost his appetite.

It was great to see Tony communing with them again. It brought back the jolly old times. The sight of Tony seated on the table made something warm burgeon in Steve’s chest. Until Tony bade them a sudden farewell and now the cold was back in full force in the pit of Steve’s gut.

He wanted to apologize to the team and own up for Tony’s continued wariness— _again_ , but he stopped himself. Had it not been going well enough? Tony acknowledged him back and everything, said ‘Thank you’ when Steve greeted him for his birthday, and stayed for some twenty minutes while Steve took his time getting some food from the buffet only because he wanted an excuse to hang back and bask in having Tony around like before. Steve had caught snippets of the conversations between Tony, Rhodes and Peter while he was getting some food, and Tony had sounded like his usual funny and quirky self.

So what _had_ happened? What went wrong that Tony scarpered off mouthing flimsy excuses as if being in the team’s presence was worse than soaking naked in boiling hot water?

“Well… That’s a start, at least,” sighed Rhodes, chewing the insides of his mouth while distractedly picking at the morsels of food on his plate with a fork. “The mere fact that he got out of the workshop to eat people food counts as a win already, I think.”

Steve forced another small bite of pasta just to have something to do and to keep himself from thinking too much about Tony and what that evening’s short encounter spelled for their already precarious friendship—if Steve was still allowed to call it that. He didn’t know what it was they had anymore. Tony had once said he wasn’t angry at Steve anymore, but Tony still insisted on isolating himself from the rest of the team and talking to Steve strictly about things concerning Bucky and rarely at that.

The undeniable truth was Steve missed Tony, but he was just about out of options as to how to get the genius out of his impenetrable fortress to rejoin his family. Steve didn’t want to boss Tony into forgiving him nor did he want to make shit of Tony’s boundaries if he didn’t feel like socializing. He’d hurt Tony before; he didn’t want to hurt him again in the course of seeking forgiveness.

“How did you even convince him to have dinner with us?” Steve, looking at Rhodes, asked the burning question that had been marinating in his mind since seeing Tony in their midst for the first time in quite a while.

Rhodes looked blankly back at Steve. “Don’t look at me. It’s all Barnes’ handiwork,” the former airman tacked the commendation to the newest addition to their dysfunctional family. “I owe you one, buddy,” sincerely thanked Rhodes with a raise of his half-full water goblet, toasting Bucky.

Steve turned towards Bucky with wide blue eyes in amazement. “It was you?”

“Yeah,” admitted Bucky, with a soft tap of his cybernetic thumb against the edge of the plate he was still holding. He looked pleasantly abashed at having been outed by Rhodes as the one responsible for getting Tony out of the workshop for dinner. “I was going to tell you about it. I was in for an adjustment earlier and I just blurted out an invitation to him, saying that we have this insane amount of leftovers from his cancelled party, and that it’d be awesome if he could join us for dinner to finish the leftovers off. I gave ‘im the Iron Man stand-in, too. Told him _you_ made it and we just helped. He really liked it.”

Steve worried his lower lip, undecided as to how that made him feel. On the one hand, he was glad that Bucky was really taking it upon himself to help Steve repair his friendship with Tony. He was glad, also, that Bucky was getting through to Tony so much better than Steve himself. On the other hand, he was dispirited that _Bucky_ was getting through to Tony so much better than Steve himself.

And Bucky, himself, might not know it yet, but Steve could read it in every one of his friend’s secret smiles, in every heartsick question if Tony was going to oversee his BARF sessions, in every eager step to Tony’s workshop for his arm adjustments, in Bucky’s hesitation when Steve had told him of his affections—

Bucky had told Steve that he wasn’t ready. Only he _was_. But his feelings were directed at _someone else_. Bucky Barnes liked Tony Stark in the same way that Steve Rogers had confessed to liking Bucky Barnes.

It was just a matter of waiting until Bucky realized it for himself.

To distract himself from his heart breaking anew, Steve did his level best to issue a faltering grin at Bucky. He had made a promise to the brunette that regardless of his feelings, he was going to be the friend that Bucky needed right now. Bucky’s apparent romantic feelings for Tony now shouldn’t change that.

“That’s…that’s really awesome, Buck,” Steve commended, forcing a jolly smile on his face and curbing his pain so that his voice wouldn’t break. “I’m glad that you and Tony are getting along so well.”

God, he wanted to sob!

He was momentarily brought out of his brokenhearted slump when Strange, wearing a coarse tunic and baggy dark blue trousers which were about as ordinary as Steve had ever seen him dressed in, inched past to get at the table for more pasta, and Steve’s disquiet from early that morning came back to him in full force.

The information of Tony’s late night visit to Strange niggled at his mind all day that he’d thought of paying the good doctor a visit himself after returning from SHIELD. If the Captain had his way, he would’ve had a conversation with Strange that very morning, which was why he’d asked FRIDAY for a head count in the guise of possible attendance to an impromptu partner drill that morning despite Bucky, who had no idea about Tony’s coma and subsequent memory issues, being there. But since Strange had been out of the compound that morning, Steve had to content himself with a plan to see and talk to Strange at the earliest opportunity.

That time was _now_ , apparently.

Steve watched Stephen shovel pasta on his plate and then, with his eyes, followed the sorcerer as the latter swept back to the living area in that characteristically mystic way he usually carried himself. As cover, Steve got some cake on his plate even if his appetite had already deserted him and was on Stephen’s heels to the living area.

He needed some space from Bucky and his realization that Bucky liked Tony, and he needed his questions about Tony’s memory issues resulting from that coma answered, which he knew he could only get from Strange.

“It’s great that you’re able to join us tonight, Stephen. FRIDAY said you weren’t around this morning,” Steve offhandedly opened, unceremoniously taking the seat beside Strange on the living room couch. He wasn’t thinking at all that this couch was where he’d poured his heart out to Bucky just last night about harboring secret feelings for the latter—no Sir; Steve wasn’t thinking about _that_ at all.

“And am I glad I made it to dinner, too. This is some really excellent pasta,” praised the doctor with admiring nods of his head while he forked his food. “James is an excellent chef.”

“He’s always been interested in cooking even before the war,” confirmed Steve, making a show of forking the cake on his own plate to appear, for all intents and purposes, as if he was just making small talk while still eating.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to attend any of his BARF sessions to date. I’ve had to flit back and forth from Bleecker to the Kamar-Taj these past several weeks to assist in teaching and averting minor skirmishes,” Stephen explained, after he’d chewed a mouthful of his revered pasta. “I know it’s no excuse because Anthony hand-picked us specifically to aid James, but these past weeks couldn’t be helped. I’m looking forward to when all the new apprentices move forward in their training so we could get more hands on deck, and then maybe I can start earning my room and board around here,” the sorcerer joked with an apologetic half-smile.

“Don’t worry about it, Stephen. Buck’s never been short of people overseeing his BARF sessions. Just…do what you have to do,” Steve assured. “If you need our help for anything, though, don’t hesitate to ask. I mean, I know we’re not exactly practitioners of the mystic arts, but—you know—if you need back up to defeat some baddie with the conventional vibranium shield to the face, we’re just here…”

Stephen nodded solemnly, appreciative. “Duly noted, Captain.”

“Say Stephen, have you…talked to Tony already about his memory lapses since the coma?” Steve segued after considerable silence between the two of them spent eating. “I’m just wondering if his sociable mood tonight might have something to do with you helping him about his memory issues or something.”

Steve didn’t want to appear too eager to know more, but he was. He wanted to know if Tony was going to be all right. He wanted to know if there was anything he could do to help. Because if there was any way—any way at all, for Steve to be able to make it up to Tony and for Tony to forgive him and be his friend again, Steve would do it. Nothing was too small or trivial, too big or complicated, too out of his skill set. Steve would do _anything_ for them to be a family again.

Strange’s face hardened into a stern expression. Like he was thinking how best to answer Steve or how much to tell the latter or, worse, how to shoot his curiosity down. “I have,” Strange vaguely revealed.

Silence.

“And?” Steve prompted when the sorcerer didn’t seem too forthcoming to reveal anything more. “Is he going to be all right then?” Steve asked, clenching and unclenching his jaw. He wanted to wrest the rest of the information from the other man, short of seizing him by the collar of his tunic just to stare him down into disclosing it, but Steve knew it probably wasn’t going to be that easy. “Did he make you swear not to tell us?” A beat. “Did he—did he make you swear not to tell _me_?”

Stephen breathed a deep sigh and placed his empty plate on the center table. Steve inched closer to the other man to keep whatever would be said between them and out of the prying ears of the others in the living area who were oblivious to the topic of their conversation.

“He asked me to keep it in confidence, yes,” Stephen answered. “And even if he didn’t, it wouldn’t be my place to say anything about it, Captain. It is Anthony’s prerogative to disclose what it was he’d discovered about his…condition to _whomever_ he trusts the most, _in his own time_.”

And Steve was probably the last person on Tony Stark’s list of _Most Trusted People_ right now. If he was even on the damn list to begin with.

“But can you at least tell me if he’s going to be all right?” Steve asked, desperation evident in his whispered question.

“It’s not life-threatening,” reassured the doctor with kindly eyes. “Physically, Anthony is going to be fine.”

Steve started at that, picking up what must have been a piece of information that the doctor let slip unintentionally. “And _emotionally_?”

“That remains to be seen,” grudgingly admitted Stephen, pursing his lips into a tight line. “Tell me, Steve. How much do you care for Anthony?”

“He’s my friend,” Steve meekly answered almost immediately.

_“He’s my friend…”_

_“So was I.”_

Would the time ever come that he’d stop feeling like, by trying to save and protect one friend, he had completely let another one down? Was it always going to be like this? No matter what he did, he was letting someone important to him down. By focusing on Bucky now to try to get him well and able to find his humanity again, he’d completely overlooked that Tony was dealing with the fallout of his coma while still doing his utmost to help Bucky on top of that.

What kind of a friend was he?

“He’d given me a home, a family…a purpose in life in this time that’s no longer mine, in this world that had kept on spinning for decades and decades without me. He’s helping Bucky in ways no one else can. He’s letting me stay here even after what had happened between us,” Steve continued, unmindful if Stephen was even still listening. He was saying these things more for his own benefit than any person who would care to listen. He wanted to tell himself what Tony had done for his sorry ass, half-wishing that Tony himself could give Steve the chance to say this to him. “I care about him. He’s… _important_ to me. And not a day goes by that I don’t wish that things could’ve been different—that I had not hurt him as I have—that I…could do something— _anything_ —to be worthy to be his friend again.”

“Well, I think you’ll find that you are just as important to Anthony as he is to you, Steve. And a connection like yours, between great men, is bound to resonate despite bitter disagreements and conflicts,” Strange, after a short period of silence, guaranteed to him with a slight quirk to a corner of his lips. Though the sorcerer’s words refused to reveal anything more, his eyes were telling and replete with what he knew.

“But if there’s _anything_ I can do to help Tony in whatever it is that ails him…if it’s something I can help him with—or—or if it’s _serious_ , you’d tell me, right?”

The doctor must have heard the sincerity and anxiety in Steve’s voice that the former sympathetically squeezed the shoulders of the latter as some sort of assurance. “Trust me. If I thought it was serious, I would not have indulged Anthony even if he’d asked me not to tell anyone; his life is not in danger from these…memory issues or I’d’ve told a team member about it.”

Steve was comforted by that, at least. Strange may have been mum about what really was the matter with Tony, but the important thing was that Tony wasn’t in any real danger. Because Steve didn’t think he could handle any more guilt if he’d found out that Tony was suffering from something mentally debilitating and keeping it a secret because everyone was just simply too focused on _Bucky_ ’s rehabilitation.

“I’m glad that Tony’d sought you out. At least, he didn’t have to go it alone,” Steve wistfully chuckled. He took a resigned inhale and prepared to stand. He felt exhausted all of a sudden.

“I’m sorry that I cannot tell you anything more than this, Steve,” Stephen apologized before Steve was out of earshot. “Maybe Anthony venturing out to join us for dinner has something to do with having sorted out his memory issues. Or maybe it doesn’t. But whatever the reason, we shouldn’t stop trying to reach out, and maybe Anthony will surprise us again.”

“I hope so, doctor. I hope so.”

-0-0-0-

Steve looked up from the tablet he was focused on when the elevator dinged and out came Tony Stark, who looked equally surprised to run into the former at the dining area. Tony seemed like he could have spun around on the balls of his feet to scramble back into the elevator had Steve not seen him or had the elevator doors not closed to his face. Now, he was left with no other option but to deal with the kitchen’s current occupant.

Steve felt a pinch deep in his chest at seeing Tony again after dinner last night when the latter had made a hasty exit for reasons unknown. “Hey Tony,” greeted Steve with a thin-lipped grin. He gingerly placed the tablet flat on the dining table and dropped his hands to his lap, behind the table, so Tony didn't have to notice how they shook ever so slightly, which seemed to happen during the rare instances that Steve was in Tony’s presence. Like his hands wanted to reach out to make Tony look at him, to keep Tony from flinching from him or to stop Tony from walking away.

“FRIDAY said there was a call to assemble because of a terror threat in Paris. I drove back as fast as I could,” said Tony, not coming any closer to Steve and stubbornly keeping by the elevator probably with every intention to jump right back into it as soon as the doors reopened.

“There was. The rest of the team is en route,” informed Steve, wrenching his gaze away from Tony to glance back at the tablet before him.

“Why aren’t you with them?” Tony asked, shifting where he stood but making no move to come any closer to Steve or to take a seat even on the dining chair farthest from him. “I’m sure FRIDAY can babysit Barnes for a couple of hours just fine, if that’s your concern.”

“Bucky’s not here. He’s with Sam,” Steve replied with a slight shrug. “Sam’s friends from the VA in DC drove over, and he thought they might have some good insights about Bucky’s rehabilitation so they’re all meeting up in the nearby town.

“And as I’m still hashing out some more of my concerns about the Accords and I haven’t signed yet, I can’t go on combat missions with the team. So it’s Command Center duty for me,” the blonde explained, worrying the inside of his lower lip. Why couldn’t Tony just sit the hell down?

“So why aren’t you _in_ the Command Center then?” Tony asked pointedly.

“First, I wanted some tea, and now I’m thinking of reheating some pasta for a snack. Miraculously, there’s still some pasta from last night,” Steve said, glancing at the face of the tablet than glancing at Tony’s still tense stance. “You c—you can join me, if you want…” Steve wanted to project his eagerness to have Tony share a bite to eat with him.

If Bucky could just simply _ask_ Tony to join them for a meal, why couldn’t Tony allow Steve the same chance? Steve didn't want to be petulant about it nor did he want to resent Bucky for the latter's connection to Tony, but Steve would give _anything_ for a chance to spend just a few minutes with the engineer and talk and banter like they used to…

He wasn’t expecting to get a chance to spend time with Tony again, so soon after last night, and he didn’t choose to stay behind because he was hoping to. But he had a golden opportunity now, and he would have to be daft not to jump at the chance.

“I don’t know, Cap. Might not be the best id—“

“—please, Tony.” Please, please, please… Please say yes; please say yes… Steve wanted to put the self-same words in Tony’s mouth. “I think there’s still also some more cake left,” Steve enticed, in effort to hide the pathetic entreaty in his voice behind an anecdote.

“Why does everyone keep on bribing me with _cake_?” Tony asked with quizzical eyebrows and an equally quizzical half-grin.

Steve shrugged with an apologetic smile. A wordless mantra was still thrumming in his head, willing Tony to give him this one time— _just this one time_ when they could both pretend that nothing was wrong and that they were just two friends sharing a meal together. In all that time, Steve could see the pain of indecision playing on Tony's face, too.

“I guess I could do with a snack,” said Tony, at last, with a resigned shrug himself, cautiously striding closer to the dining table and pulling the chair farthest from Steve to take a seat on it.

Steve jumped off his own seat to get to reheating some pasta and slicing some cake like there were springs on the soles of his feet. Tony had agreed to eat a snack with him! After _seven months_ of aloofness with rare occasions of casual interaction, of Tony keeping him at arm’s length, this was momentous. Steve wanted to whoop and cackle in glee. But he knew that getting Tony to agree to get a snack with him was just one hurdle.

Steve needed to get Tony to _stay_.

“You said you drove back as fast as you could,” Steve casually dropped, initiating conversation. “So where were you?” He looked over his shoulder to glance at where Tony was seated and found the brunette stretching himself to cover nearly the entire length of the table to reach out for Steve’s tablet.

“Meeting,” Tony frugally answered, retaking his seat after he’d gotten hold of Steve’s tablet. “Any initial sitrep on the terror threat?”

“Just conjectures on possible targets: a new art exhibit at The Louvre, an opera performance that prominent European dignitaries are expected to attend, a night club in the entertainment district,” shared Steve, stealing another glance at Tony who was thumbing the tablet while seated at his end of the dining table.

“I see,” commented Tony offhandedly. “So who’s leading the charge then?”

“Nat’s on point. She’s assigned teams to look into the list of possible target areas,” said Steve, using a wooden spatula to turn over the pasta reheating on his pan. “How are the, uh…simulations you were working on?”

“Pardon?”

“The _simulations_ you said you were working on last night? The reason you had to leave in a hurry,” Steve reminded Tony, ladling the reheated pasta on two plates for them.

“They’re fine,” curtly answered Tony, still preferring to look at the face of the tablet in his hands rather than at Steve.

Steve knew that to ask for Tony to be more engaged in the conversation, to give more than disyllabic responses, was asking too much already. He should just content himself with what Tony was willing to give him now. At least, they were talking about something else aside from Bucky…

“So what do you think about Barnes’ progress?” Tony asked just as Steve deposited a steaming plate of pasta before the brunette.

Maybe Steve had spoken too soon then?

“He’s doing well. The BARF sessions are—“ Steve cleared his throat, plopping back on his seat to tuck in with his heaping plate of pasta. He really, _really_ didn’t want to talk about Bucky with Tony. He wanted to talk to Tony _about Tony_ , about other things—mundane things, even silly things, just…for the first time since Bucky’s treatment started, he didn’t want to have to discuss the matter of Bucky to Tony as if it was the only thing they could talk about.

God, he and Tony used to talk about _a lot of things_ before, because Tony used to be a huge talker, and he had a lot of opinions about a lot of things. Steve probably missed that the most about the genius.

“—all right—can we…not talk about that? About Bucky’s treatment—about Bucky… Can we talk about something else?” Steve requested with a purse of his lips, beginning to fork the food on his plate distractedly.

Tony’s eyebrows twitched and he shrugged nonchalantly. “OK…”

Silence.

Steve sighed inwardly, surreptitiously glancing at Tony who had busied himself with studying the new information coming in from the field on Steve’s tablet that was still in his hands. So much for talking about other things…

“How—how are _you_ , Tony?”

“’m good,” answered Tony, briefly looking up from the tablet to glance at the vicinity of Steve’s right ear. His face remained impassive.

“And ho—how’s Pepper? Have you talked to her lately?”

“She’s fine.”

They were probably going to talk about the damn weather next—how it was unusually cold for the last day of May in upstate New York. Steve clenched his left hand into a fist on his lap.

Why wouldn’t Tony just… _look_ at him?

“You once said you weren’t mad at me anymore, but I don’t think that’s true,” Steve finally blurted out in a cheerless chuckle, unable to restrain his frustration anymore. “It’s all right if you still are, you know,” Steve wearily induced. _‘If that’s what it takes to get you to, at least,_ look _at me’_ remained unsaid, however.

“Is it?” Tony asked, finally, _finally_ lifting his head to stare squarely into Steve’s eyes, and Steve was dumbstruck by the flash of defiance, melancholy, pain, and regret in those big, brown eyes. But the mishmash of emotions was gone as quickly as it had manifested to be replaced by inscrutability.

“Look, I know you’re trying, Steve,” Tony mouthed with slightly furrowed eyebrows. “I’m trying, too,” he said evenly. “I _am_ trying but…” He added, almost in a whisper, and trailed off without finishing what he’d begun to say.

 _‘But we can keep trying for the rest of our lives and never succeed to regain what we’ve lost’_ was the statement Steve had heard between the lines. Steve leaned forward on his seat as if he could somehow bridge the distance between him and his friend. “I’ll never get tired of trying, Tony. I’ll try harder… I’ll earn your friendship back if it’s the last thing I do.”

Tony bit the tip of his tongue between his lips and nodded almost imperceptibly. It wasn’t the forgiveness Steve’s been after—not even close. It wasn’t any form of reassurance that there would even _be_ forgiveness waiting down the road.

_“Look, I know you’re trying, Steve… I’m trying, too.”_

It gave the Captain hope, nevertheless. And that _was_ something worth hanging on to.

Steve watched Tony resume eating his pasta, watched for the tell-tale signs that Tony was rushing his eating so he could get away from Steve as soon as possible. But the other man ate with the same pace, tense but unhurried. Contemplative but deliberate. Steve let the silence envelop them both, hoping that he was reading things correctly in that there was less tension between them now.

Really, if this was the only way that Tony could deal with him, Steve should just welcome it—count this as a victory, no matter how minuscule.

“So… how’re Pete and Strange doing when it comes to training with the rest of the team? Are they integrating themselves well?” Tony initiated the exchange that time.

“Stephen is great at anticipating the needs of the other members of the team that I think, sometimes, is almost clairvoyant of him, and Peter is still every bit the kid that he is, although he has a self-sacrificing streak a mile wide that I have to wonder where he gets it from,” remarked Steve with fondness for the newest members of their superhero team. The pasta was beginning to taste more scrumptious, now that Tony seemed warmer towards him.

“He’s an impressionable teenager who lives in a boarding house chock-full of noble idiots; I’m not surprised,” Tony replied that even though he’d said that with a deadpan face, the fact that it sounded _exactly_ like what Steve’s friend, Tony Stark, would say, sent waves of warm fuzzies to Steve’s heart, nonetheless.

“Anything new from the field?” Steve nodded towards the tablet in Tony’s hands, which the latter had taken to watching closely again now that his plate of pasta and cake was empty.

“Just some more reports from the local police,” Tony informed, standing up to walk towards Steve to give him back the tablet. He stayed at a respectable distance as he handed back the gadget to its owner.

“I, uh, gotta go. Back to the workshop,” said Tony, cocking his head. “Just…give me a heads-up if there’s anything you need from me should the situation in Paris escalate. FRIDAY and I will, uh, keep an eye on it… Thanks for the snack, Cap.” The brunette walked sedately back towards the elevator.

Steve had gotten Tony to stay. And even just for a while, they were almost how they used to be. For that, Steve was thankful.

“I’ll see you around, Tony!” Steve called after Tony’s retreating back. He hoped the eagerness was not as evident in his voice as he, himself, thought it was.

If Tony had called something back by way of goodbye, Steve didn’t hear it as the elevator doors had already slid shut.


	18. 18. BUCKY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky realizes something (sort of).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updating using my phone. It's not easy. But for you guys I'll endure all hardship *wink*.
> 
> Let me know what you guys think, k? 
> 
> This is dedicated to my baby sister on the event of her 26th birthday! Love yah, sis!  
> \----

****“ _—are currently in the Avengers facility in upstate New York. The date is June 19, 2017, and the time is 3:35 in the morning. Please try to calm down, Sergeant. You have accelerated heart rate and irregular breathing patterns. You may be on the verge of a panic attack. Would you like me to put on some footage of Mr. Stark singing to calm you down?_ ” FRIDAY asked, reciting what has become pretty much her usual spiel to soothe Bucky from his latest night terrors.

Still breathing heavily, Bucky palmed his face with his flesh hand to get his mind out of his current headspace. Planting his arms on his spread knees while in a hook sitting position on his bed, he cradled the side of his head against the cool surface of his metal bicep. “Can you show me where Tony is, Fry?” Bucky asked, keeping to that posture to tamp down on the panic blossoming in his chest. “Is he—is he safe—is he in his workshop right now?”

“ _Yes, Sergeant._ ”

“Can you show me some live feed of Tony? Please… I just—please…”

A holo-screen blinked open beside the bed in lieu of FRIDAY’s reply which showed Tony puttering around in his workshop while wearing leather-palmed work gloves to give him purchase on the piece of equipment he was fiddling with. The time stamp on the top right-hand corner of the footage showed real time—3:37 in the morning—and Bucky was mildly mollified in the knowledge that Tony was safe in his turf.

Even if he had been anything but in Bucky’s dreams not a couple of minutes ago. He couldn’t remember all the details but the former Sergeant knew he had dreamed about Tony Stark.

About losing control, reverting back to the Winter Soldier and killing Tony Stark.

Bucky raked a hand through wet tendrils of his dark brown hair and repeatedly breathed as deep as he could. Thankfully, the details of his nightmare were becoming murkier and murkier now that he was awake. He couldn’t get all of it out of his mind, though. Not the look of pained surprise on Tony’s face. Not the feel of Tony’s blood on his flesh arm. Not the sound of Tony wheezing his dying breaths. Not Tony’s final words as he lay dying at Bucky’s feet.

_“You…are more than just the—the sum of…your parts. All of who you…are, as you are. You’re—you’re more. Don’t—don’t forget… Don’t have it…any other way. Don’t…forget…”_

Funny how it was such a far cry from the events of Siberia after the lapse of only a year. At the same time, it was also heart-warming that, now, there was simply more people in Bucky’s life that he gave a damn over. Not that having Steve as a constant in Bucky’s life was not enough, no. It was just surprising how far he’d come from being an aimless nomad—one without a past and without a future, without any ties to anyone, without any goal apart from the next target that HYDRA preferred to unleash him upon. Now, he actually had friends—a family—that he ate with, lived with, got better with.

He’s always had Steve to look out for him, uplift him on particularly bad days with the BARF; now, he had ever-patient Vision, too, to answer any questions he may have about recent history, general information and politics Bucky may have missed; Bucky had Sam and Scott to play video games and play pranks with; he had Wanda to cook and learn new recipes with; he had Nat and Jim to spar with; he had Clint to occasionally practice his aim with whenever Clint visited, although Bucky was yet to allow himself to hold weapons with live ammunition—he mostly practiced with Clint using airsoft guns firing paint-filled bullets; Bucky had Peter, who was actually formidable opposition, to play hacky sack and basketball with.

And, of course, there was Tony, who helped Bucky adjust to his new cybernetic arm and who let him play with DUM-E and U and let him stay in the workshop to assist with propping some piece of machinery upright so it could be screwed to another machine or gripping two metal pieces together to be welded. Lately, though, Tony talked to him more—about his BARF sessions, his relationship with the rest of the team, his thoughts on possible upgrades for the others’ gear, his cooking and things he liked spending his free time on.

Tony was still not as talkative as Bucky would like him to be, but he was _talking_. _To_ Bucky. And that was the important thing.

Bucky still took it upon himself to invite Tony to team activities and mention how Steve always asked Bucky about the genius—if Tony ate the food that Bucky brought down for him, what Tony and Bucky talked about whenever they were alone in Tony’s workshop, if Tony had seemed like he’d had enough sleep, if Tony seemed like he was in a good enough mood to join them for dinner or a movie night…

Sure, Tony seldom humored his invitations—joining them for dinner only once since Tony’s impromptu birthday dinner—and would barely react whenever Bucky mentioned Steve, but that one accepted dinner invitation and the fact that Bucky’s access to the workshop was yet to be revoked because Tony’d had it with his subtle but incessant Steve-namedropping meant that Bucky was successfully chipping away at the genius’ walls, one grain at a time.

So, while his days were occasionally wearisome and dark because of whatever new memory the BARF brought to the fore, there were some days that he just felt quite fortunate to have the Avengers. To feel part of something. To have a purpose that wasn’t violence, chaos and ruin.

If only his nights were as wide-ranging as his days, then Bucky Barnes would indeed be one happy man. But as it was, his evenings were still pretty much constantly plagued by night terrors. He’d stopped taking to the kitchen to drown himself in tea whenever he woke up at wee hours, but it didn’t mean his nights were becoming any easier or his dreams were becoming less tumultuous. It was a fucking _wonder_ he was even getting enough sleep to arm himself for the onslaught that was the BARF sessions in the mornings, and that was largely thanks to footage of Tony’s singing that FRIDAY supplied him like a freakin’ drug.

Bucky stroked his face with the palm of his flesh hand again to further chase away the horror wrought by the dream, but the after-image behind his eyelids persistently remained every time he blinked. To keep the horrors at bay, the former assassin stubbornly kept his eyes on Tony’s real-time image on the holo-screen, blinking only if he couldn’t help the stinging of his eyes any longer.

He watched Tony hold a one-sided conversation with DUM-E with the volume on the feed turned low. He watched Tony pat DUM-E like a father would a son he was mighty proud of. His eyes remained glued to Tony’s smile as the latter watched DUM-E’s clawed head spin on its base as if it was regaling the genius-engineer with an animated story.

_“You…are more than just the—the sum of…your parts…”_

“He’s all right… Right, FRIDAY?” Bucky meekly asked, his gaze never leaving the figure of the engineer on the live feed. “It was just a bad dream, right?”

“ _It was just a bad dream, Sergeant,_ ” confirmed FRIDAY, the AI’s voice kind and reassuring.

“Can you—can you show me footage of Tony singing again? Maybe I can still get back to sleep.” It was more wishful thinking than anything, but it was worth a shot.

The AI humored his request, and he did fall back into uneasy sleep for a few hours until the weak light of the early morning sun was streaming into his bedroom windows; and it was time to get up.

Breakfast was always a happy affair in the Avengers residential building. Unless some of the members of the team were on prolonged missions, on short sojourns in their secondary residences, or in school, breakfast was when most of the members were around to plan the day ahead, which usually meant training exercises, meetings with the administrative staff, keeping an eye on the items flagged by FRIDAY as critical in the Command Center monitors, or goofing around to keep themselves amused.

Still mildly disturbed by his nightmares from the night before, Bucky was more subdued than the usual during breakfast. He was thankful, though, that Peter and Scott were gregarious enough for all of them that the former assassin’s brooding, for the most part, went unnoticed.

“Care for some breakfast, Tony?” Natasha’s voice broke into Bucky’s deep introspection, and the latter looked up from the cereal bowl he’s been nursing towards the direction where everyone else was turned.

Tony was descending the stairs from the second floor hallway balcony where some of the residents’ bedrooms were located. He was in the process of throwing on a navy blazer over an electric blue, long-sleeved dress shirt, slim fit black Levi’s and black plain-toe Derbies. This was the most put-together that Bucky had ever seen Tony look—brown-black hair stylishly tousled, Van Dyke meticulously trimmed, accessories strategically selected in the form of a  pair of slightly-tinted black wire-framed glasses perched on his nose and Patek Philippe dress watch around his left wrist.

The genius-engineer looked dressed to conquer the known world.

Tony looked good.

Tony looked _really_ good. And Bucky couldn’t help but stare, drink the sight in—all thoughts of his nightmare woes out the window.

Once Tony was on the first floor landing and fixing the lapels and wrist folds of his blazer, Bucky’d torn his gaze from the newcomer and closed what must have been his gaping mouth with a slight shake of his head to regain a semblance of control over himself. Of course, he was bound to stare like a stunned idiot, he rationalized inwardly. This was, after all, the first time that Bucky had seen Tony dressed like the powerhouse businessman-tech magnate-media darling that he was instead of the reclusive, nerdy, grease monkey that he usually was.

The man was _stunning_ : self-assurance and charisma seemed to ooze out of his person with every stride, every gesture, every cock of his head, every purse of his lips.

Bucky felt his face grow hot, realizing the form his thoughts were currently taking. He tried to cover it up by jerkily shoveling spoonful after spoonful of cereal in his mouth.

“I actually have a meeting to get to,” Tony intoned, noncommittally, and Bucky recognized the beginnings of another lousy excuse from the genius for refusing to deal with the other people living in the same space as he. “But—ehrm… Breakfast… Sure, why not? I could use a quick bite…”

Bucky wrestled his attention away from his boring, half-empty cereal bowl to gape at Tony, unsure if he’d imagined the whole thing. Did Tony just accede to join them for breakfast? He was so used to hearing Tony glibly decline his repeated invitations mouthing one excuse or another, that hearing Tony’s acquiescence now disconcerted him for a moment.

And on top of that, Tony chose to stand behind Bucky and, reaching for a proffered coffee mug from Jim, inserted himself between Bucky and the person sitting beside him: Scott.

“Who’re you meeting with?” Jim asked, settling back on his seat and taking a swig from his own coffee cup.

“The board,” Tony answered after downing a gulp of his own coffee. He inserted himself between Bucky and Scott again, this time reaching for some hashbrowns from a serving dish at the middle of the table.

Steve, chewing in his characteristic reserved manner, motioned to catch Tony’s eye and asked, “why don’t you sit down, Tony? It can’t be good for the digestion if you eat like that.”

Tony gestured dismissively. “No, no—it’s all right, Cap. I can’t afford to get comfortable. I have to be out the door in a while. Pepper’s going to wring my neck if I’m any later for the meeting than I have to.” He bent over, injecting himself between Bucky and Scott again to get some bacon strips this time.

Bucky wasn’t sure if it was deliberate or inadvertent on Tony’s part, but he definitely felt a warm hand against his skin on that spot where neck met shoulder. He craned his neck sideways to gift Tony with a glance only to be met with a close-mouthed, childish grin and an owlish stare through those smart-looking glasses.

The warmth blazed from his neck to the fingertips of his flesh arm like he had been electrocuted, and it unsettled him. It greatly _unsettled_ him because, by now, he was supposed to be no stranger to Tony’s touches—casual or otherwise—which the other man was surprisingly generous with during his arm adjustments.

Yet there was _this_ touch. This touch and Tony’s proximity, and Bucky felt like everything had somehow changed overnight.

“I’ll go ahead, guys,” Tony said, hurriedly gulping down what was left of his precious coffee and depositing the mug on a vacant spot on the table by Bucky’s elbow.

With a final touch on the back of Bucky’s chair, Tony propelled himself away from the table with a casual wave over his shoulder as all manner of goodbyes echoed from those he was leaving behind.

Bucky was too busy rationalizing the thoughts running a marathon through his mind to turn his head and watch the other man go.

-0-0-0-

After over a month of almost daily BARF sessions with a minimum of four to five hours’ duration of sessions every day, Bucky was already quite used to using the BARF that it’s become second nature for him to put on the temple tips to rest behind the shell of his ears, secure the BARF nodes behind the ear lobes, and gaze upon the holographic images projected by the temple arms that he hadn’t needed a technician to assist him with it in three weeks.

Bucky stood before the three-walled panel, deeply breathing through the mouth to sooth himself before the onslaught began for the day. He turned and craned his head to award the observation deck, where Steve and Natasha stood, with a small reassuring smile.

He watched the corners of Steve’s lips tug upward into a small smile of his own while Natasha nodded firmly.

Momentarily turning back towards the blue panels, Bucky sought the gaze of a BARF technician and gave a thumbs-up as wordless signal that he was ready for the initiation sequence.

The lights in the hall dimmed with a turn of the key in the machinery’s ignition and they were off for another jaunt into James Buchanan Barnes’ colored past.

The happy memories dredged up by the BARF were few and far between. The last one had been over a week ago, and it was fleeting to boot. It wasn’t that Bucky was dissatisfied with the machinery’s performance what with the BARF seemingly emphasizing _nothing else_ but the bad memories and, by implication, emphasizing the poor quality of his life. But that got Bucky somehow convinced that this simply meant that there just weren’t enough happy memories in his past. Period.

He’d told Tony as much. As jokingly as he could. And Tony’d given him an earful with an ‘are you kidding me?’ deadpan expression.

Tony’d explained then that he had simply written the coding of the BARF to focus on snapshots, snippets or images that register the highest releases of norepinephrine—the chemical involved in the fight-or-flight response and was responsible for triggering symptoms of anxiety and those eerily similar to panic attacks—significantly changing the brain’s chemistry. Once a snapshot was zeroed in on, the brain would supply the rest of the associated images, forming a scene, forming a series of chronological scenes, and later forming an event—a memory, or more particularly a _traumatic_ memory.

And that was why the BARF almost always showed just Bucky’s bad memories. It had nothing to do with the quality of the entire body of the former Sergeant’s memories, but the BARF was just designed that way.

There was nothing that needed altering in the memories of the happy moments of one’s life anyway. It was almost always the terrible ones that caused the most severe trauma.

Bucky could remember numerous such conversations with Tony about the BARF during adjustments to the cybernetic arm. Tony’d patiently explained to him the neurobiological research behind the malleability of our memories—even the long-term ones—that spurred Tony’s development of the earliest iteration of the BARF, mostly for his personal use after his parents had died and he was on a steady downward spiral because of the guilt of not having told them everything he’d wanted to say. Tony’d made mention that even until now, research was still on-going on the possibility of actually _erasing_ memories. For now, though, he didn’t want to have to sacrifice Bucky’s psychological well-being by making him a guinea pig for an on-going research. He preferred to undertake the painstaking process of merely _altering_ the memories, and later enabling Bucky to control _everything_ about who he was now, for the purpose of achieving some kind of catharsis. The brain was also rewired to a certain extent with none of the risks attendant to removing parts of what made Bucky, Bucky.

“I mean, yeah—erasing memories of having done all of those things as the Winter Soldier is well and good. Changes nothing, though; those people stay dead and you stay responsible, to a certain extent—only you can’t _remember_ it. At which point are you supposed to _accept_ that, yes—you did those things, but no—you wouldn’t have done them had you been in actual control, if you can’t bloody well remember having done them? Where’s the growth, the catharsis, or the redemption in that?” Tony had once reasoned out to him. His brown eyes showed depth and distance as if he himself was trapped in some kind of headspace where he was trying to defend that self-same position.

It was conversations like that with Tony that made Bucky all the more desirous to get better—not for the purpose of returning to the person he was before everything turned to shit but _embracing_ all of who he was, _as he was_ right now.

_“You…are more than just the—the sum of…your parts. All of who you…are, as you are. You’re—you’re more. Don’t—don’t forget… Don’t have it…any other way. Don’t…forget…”_

An array of disjointed images kept on flashing on the panels at an almost nauseating speed. The initiation sequence was always damn difficult to hurdle. And then there was the memory itself that the BARF would zero in on. Being accosted by the original memory was always harder than altering it to get a semblance of closure.

The images’ flashing slowed until it stopped:

_There was a poorly-paved road flanked on both sides by dark foliage, barely bathed in moonlight and artificial illumination from squat streetlights interspersed at 50-meter intervals. The quiet of the night was broken by the sound of a speeding gold-brown sedan being pursued by a black motorcycle._

_The motorcycle accelerated until it was alongside the sedan. The rider of the cycle—a man with long-dark hair and a left arm made of metal—slammed his metal arm against the car door post on the passenger side, forcing the car’s driver to lose control. The car careened towards the right-hand shoulder and crashed against a thick tree trunk that jutted out of the side of the road._

_The man astride the motorcycle, maneuvered back towards the wreckage. The hood and fender of the car were completely trashed, folded in on themselves like crumpled paper. The engine hissed and spat, breathing its last before bursting into flames. There wasn’t much time left now before the fire would consume everything—that not even the most brilliant of inspectors would detect foul play in the crash._

_The dark-haired man parked the cycle behind the car, strode towards the car and forced its trunk open. He unclasped a brief case sitting there to expose five IV bags of a brilliant blue substance in a bed of white protective plastic._

_The man’s attention was stolen by an older gentleman with silver hair, face bloodied and bearing disoriented, crawling out of the wrecked vehicle from the driver’s side muttering, desperate but halting: “help…my wife. Please. Help her.”_

_The man went to the silver-haired man’s side and seized him by the hair. When the latter saw the former, he mouthed, astounded, “Sergeant Barnes…”_

Bucky’s fists clenched on his sides. He knew this memory was coming. It was only a matter of time. He’d seen the memory of nearly every one of his missions at least once, too. Save for this mission. And these two targets.

December 16, 1991. Howard and Maria Stark.

_“Howard!” A passenger—a female—groaned from the front passenger side of the wreckage. The dark-haired man—the Winter Soldier—impassive and without any hint of recognition on his face looked towards the female in the car and the man—Howard—whose hand desperately gripped the Soldier’s own that was tangled in silver hair. It was not hesitation but calculation. He’d make it look like an accident had claimed the lives of these two…_

_The Soldier bashed Howard Stark’s face in with his free hand—the metal one—once. Twice. He felt the bones give. He felt the life animating the body drain out of his victim._

_“Howard!” The female left in the car wailed and wheezed._

_The Soldier released the man’s head; the lifeless body slumped face down on the gravel, only to be unceremoniously picked up again and dragged back to the vehicle’s driver’s seat. The man’s head was purposefully placed, slumped against the steering wheel, to make it look like the impact of the crash had made him break his face at the car’s helm._

_“H—How—How—ard… Howard,” Maria Stark panted from the passenger seat. Tears and blood were running down her face._

_The Soldier strode around the rear of the car to the passenger side and coolly seized the gasping female by her dainty neck, cutting the weak plea for help. He squeezed and squeezed while his face remained eerily blank. He gripped until there was no resistance of a hard fought-for inhale. He was careful to let go just before her airway collapsed due to the force of his grip in case there would still be a body to be subjected to a post-mortem. For all intents and purposes, the couple died in a car accident: Howard Stark died on impact and Maria Stark died due to asphyxiation in the fire of the wreckage._

_It was then that the dark-haired man noticed the crude CCTV mounted on the barbed-wire fence of the property bordering the road. It would have footage of what had happened here. It was evidence. HYDRA didn’t like loose ends. He was going to have to report to his handlers to secure the recording of this camera to erase all tracks that he was ever there or that he had a hand in the Starks’ deaths._

_But first thing’s first… The Soldier whipped out a handgun and shot the camera._

_He turned on his heel to retrieve the briefcase with the IV bags, strapped it to his motorcycle and, straddling the cycle again, started the powerful engine without opening the headlights. He drove away towards the cover of trees, but about twenty meters from the site of the crash, he stopped and turned to be able to be in full view of his handiwork. Leaning on a leg and without killing the engine on his cycle, the Winter Soldier watched, emotionless, as the Starks’ car wreck was slowly devoured by flames._

Bucky thought he was a fucking stone-cold monster was what he was. He hung his head and bit his lips between his teeth, afraid to steal a glance at the observation deck—dreading to see what he would find in Steve’s and Natasha’s eyes. Although he knew that this was nothing new to Steve, having seen this same scene from the CCTV’s point of view in the HYDRA facility in Siberia, Bucky was still overcome with shame.

If there was a time he was actually glad that Tony didn’t like going to his BARF sessions, that time was now.

He honestly didn’t know how he would feel if he knew that Tony was reliving this horror again. Maybe the genius-billionaire would finally realize that helping Bucky was an exercise in futility—not to mention, a masochistic and an immensely stupid, _stupid_ move.

Then where exactly would he end up in without Tony’s help?

No matter how many times Tony’d _shown_ and proven to Bucky that he was already forgiven, Bucky could still scarcely believe it. That Tony could just… _forgive_ him—after everything that Bucky had done, stealing Tony’s parents—Tony’s _mother_ —from him. Bucky didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve to benefit from Tony’s tireless genius or Tony’s stealthy kindness.

The arm hanging from Bucky's side was no longer the arm that claimed the lives of Tony Stark’s parents, true. Maybe that was Tony’s reason for agreeing to engineer a new cybernetic arm for Bucky. But Bucky was still the man responsible. He had memories to go nicely with the guilt.

He could change this memory all he wants, but it was never going to undo everything or change anything, was it? Bucky’s eyes stung with unshed tears of frustration. What was this exercise for—using the BARF—if it couldn’t change a fucking thing?! If Bucky couldn’t give his dear friend his parents back, then what was this damn thing good for, but just to impress upon him that there was nothing…fucking _nothing_ he could fucking do?!

He was barely paying any mind as the memory replayed itself on the panels. He was only half-paying attention to the short chase, the actual crash, the precious IV bags in the trunk, Howard recognizing him, killing Howard Stark, Maria’s interrupted plea for help until—

_“Tony… Please… I have a son. I have a son… Tony. I have a son. He’s going to change the world. I want to—I want to see him change the world. Please… I have to get back to my son! I have to see my son again!” Maria whimpered in between her gasps while the Winter Soldier calmly rounded the car to the passenger side to deal with her._

_“Tony,” Maria was crying in earnest now. “I have to get back to my son… Please…”_

_And it was as if the name, that name—_ Tony _—cleared the fog in the Soldier’s mind. “Tony,” he murmured like he was trying out how the name fit in his lips._

_“Yes! Tony. Please… My son—he needs me,” Maria wheezed, clutching at the Soldier’s metal arm, persuasive yet gentle. She held it like she was unafraid of it. Even if it could strangle the life out of her._

_And just like that it wasn’t the Soldier anymore but Bucky. It was Bucky standing there, spurred into sudden action to get Maria from the fiery wreckage so she could go back to her son. To Tony…_

_Try to save her, he did… He tried. But Maria’s leg was squeezed under the dashboard that had crumpled over her lower extremities when the fender collapsed from the impact. Bucky pushed and punched through the metal and plastic debris with his cybernetic arm. When her legs came free, she couldn’t move so Bucky tried to move her. She gave a bloodcurdling shriek in pain._

_“Broken…broken spine. Punctured lung. Possible internal hemorrhaging and multiple organ failure,” she enumerated quietly, resignedly. She looked up at him then at the slowly burning front of the car. “Get out of here.”_

_“No,” Bucky answered. “I have to get you back to Tony, remember? You still have to see him change the world.” He said, chokingly. Imploringly. “Come on, Maria. You can do this.”_

_“Get out of here… Get out of here, Sergeant!” Maria couldn’t even push him away. She was gurgling now. Blood in her lungs. “Take care of Tony for me. Take care of him. Watch out for him. Protect him. Don’t leave his side.”_

_“No, Maria!”_

_“Promise me, Sergeant,” she beseeched. Tears were on her face and blood on her lips. “Tell him… Tell him I love him.”_

_"Maria, I--"_

_"Promise me, Sergeant... Promise me..."_

_"I... I promise. I promise, Maria. I'll take care of him," Bucky said, choking on his cries._

_And she was gone. Her delicate hand clutched in his metal one._

Bucky, like the Bucky in the memory, was on his knees, his legs having given out from under him in devastation. He was crying noisily and unashamedly now.

It didn't really happen. Maria Stark didn't really make the Winter Soldier promise that he'd take care of her son. But to Bucky, it was real. It was a vow that he intended to take to heart, too. He might not be able to give Tony back the parents he had lost. But Bucky could make sure Tony never had to feel alone and disregarded ever again.

_"Do you even remember them?"_

Bucky looked up from the floor to regard the BARF panels through his tears and the curtain of his longish dark brown hair.

The scene showcased by the BARF had changed. It was Iron Man, with his arms wrapped around Bucky's neck from behind in a choke-hold. They were in that HYDRA facility in Siberia all over again.

_"I remember all of them..."_

Then there were words. Quiet words. Being uttered one after another. Quiet words otherwise unassociated with another. Quiet words in Russian.

_"Zhelaniye. Rzhavyy. Semnadtsat’ . Rassvet..."_

He didn't know where they were coming from. Only that they were there, scratching at his brain, filling his ears.

_"Take care of Tony for me..."_

_"I promise, Maria..."_

_"...Vozvrashcheniye na rodinu. Odin."_

The most violent headache erupted in Bucky's head, and his mouth opened of its own accord to silently scream in pain. He clutched his head between his hands to try to stave off the pain and the horror that was about to be unleashed. He tried to keep his mind focused on Tony, wanting--wishing for Tony to anchor him.

_"Gruzovoy vagon."_

No. No, no, no...

"Ready to comply."


	19. 19. TONY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky comes to from his Winter Soldier episode with the help of a most harebrained scheme. And Tony finds some things out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's the month of LURVE!!! And the first weekend to boot. Do you guys have plans? Well, if you don't, you can spend your weekend reading this--the next chapter to our epic tale of redemption, friendship and finding love in the least likely of places *cue dramatic intro music*... Hahaha!
> 
> Same drill y'all--I would still love to know what you guys think so hit me up through the Kudos and Comment buttons! Special thanks go to the regular commenters of this story. You know who you are. Thank you, THANK YOU for always brightening my week. I always feel inspired to write because of the awesome comments and discussions that this tale generates, so keep 'em coming! 
> 
> Every Breath You Take is originally by The Police/Sting, but I've always ADORED Sting and RDJ's version of it. And the song fits the recent plot developments like a dainty glove, too!
> 
> So... Happy weekend, my lovelies and ENJOY!  
> \---

****Tony was dying.

He was _fucking_ dying of _fucking_ boredom in the presence of these uptight, dry, long-winded, so-called business moguls that was the Stark Industries’ Board of Directors, asking their useless, repetitive questions to the members of the various Management Committees then standing before them to report on the general health and well-being of the company.

If Tony’d had a better excuse to spout off to Pepper, neither hide nor hair of his would have been around to endure this utmost torture that was a protracted, mind-numbing exercise that told him nothing that he didn’t know already: that his company is raking in profits, their stock prices are through the roof, his employees are satisfied and inspired, and their products in the market are pulverizing the competition. That, despite the continued controversy surrounding the amendments to the Sokovia Accords that factions in all the signing member-states still protested over and Tony Stark and the Stark Industries’ participation in that _monster_ of an issue that just about refused to die, he—being the one who held the majority share in the company—was still, apparently, filthy rich.

He didn’t understand how, of the thousands of capable and driven people in their company’s employ all over the globe, there was even any _doubt_ that the company would be doing well. And if the company _was_ doing well as expected, then why the ever-loving fuck was he still needed to be tortured in a _fucking_ Board meeting like this?!

The saving grace to this pushing-three-hours-long torture device was that it gave him something else to think about other than the screwed-up situation he had going back at the Avengers compound.

He was now the happy, _happy_ owner of _two_ sets of memories: one where Steve Rogers abandoned him, broken and beaten-up, in Siberia in favor of galumphing towards the sunset with his parents’ murderer, and another where Steve Rogers fucking _married_ him. Tony was yet to completely wrap his head around _that_ little sweetheart, and now he’s back here—his own universe—in possession of all his memories of the other universe while having to deal with the Steve who had abandoned him and finding it a tad difficult to dissociate _this_ Steve with _the other_ version of Steve and how the latter had made him feel.

So, confused, frustrated, angry and regretful, he wanted to cut himself off from the Captain and the rest of the merry band more so than ever before, only he couldn’t do that again because he didn’t want Rhodey to go all fire-breathing dragon on him and because mending bridges with the Cap was _precisely_ the reason he’d turned his back on Utopia to traipse back to this sucky universe of his.

Of course, he couldn’t forget _Barnes_. Barnes, who insisted on keeping him well-fed and relatively conversant when it came to the other residents of the compound, who never tired to invite him to team activities like meals and shit, who amused him and fed his ego by marveling at his creativity and asking him interesting questions about his tech. Who, apart from Peter and Rhodey, had got to be the only other person living in the compound that Tony was surprisingly comfortable to be with—you know—considering that Barnes was the one who’d murdered Tony’s parents and all…

But the cherry on top of the shit-cream that was Tony’s life would have to be the fact that this Steve he was supposed to have returned to mend bridges with, the same one Tony was finding it difficult to separate from the person he was married to in the other dimension, was ass over teakettle in fucking love with—and _most probably_ in a relationship with, if that kiss he had inadvertently walked in on was anything to go by—Tony’s new friend-slash-his parents’ murderer.

This awkward crapfest was the reason he tried to keep his interaction with the team in small doses. Seeing the Cap and Barnes together, exchanging meaningful looks and whispering to each other and giving secret smiles to each other and always sitting next to each other like they were joined at the hip or something, was more than Tony could bear.

Maybe he should have asked Strange to wipe his memory of the other universe after all. Maybe if he didn’t have any recollection of how Steve used to look at him as if he hung the moon and stars, or of how Steve patiently dealt with his misplaced and latent anger because of Siberia, or of how Steve kissed him, then he wouldn’t be having this internal crisis every time he saw the Cap and Barnes together.

Tony’d never even thought of Steve like _that_ before—romantically. Sexually. Sure, he’d had romps with men in his colorful past before Afghanistan. Before Iron Man. Before Pepper. But it had never crossed his mind that he could be attracted to _Steve Rogers_ —Captain America. He’d idolized Steve when he was just a boy, collected the comics, watched the promotional videos and what not. And then, he’d _hated_ Steve for being in the center of Howard’s universe, so much so that Howard barely paid his own son any mind and didn’t see the great man his son could become because he was hung up on the great man that was Captain America.

Apparently, though, three months in another universe where you were supposedly married to the guy was enough to change everything.

But _this_ Steve was in love with someone else, and that was that.

Huh, and they said _Days of Our Lives_ was the damn benchmark for drama! They obviously didn’t know about Tony Stark’s life, did they?

“What do you think, Tony?” That snapped Tony out of his reverie and, tugging on an earlobe, turned to look at his CEO, Pepper Potts, seated to his right, who had asked the question.

“What do I think about what? Sorry, I was…distracted for a bit,” Tony apologized, biting on a corner of his lower lip.

The earnestness of the apology must have thrown Pepper off because instead of awarding him with a poisonously reproachful look, the redheaded executive was compassionate and repeated the issue to him. Tony further surprised her by being concisely insightful with his comment.

He could almost imagine the interrogation that would surely follow this out-of-character display. Pepper knew him well enough to know that behavior like this meant that something wasn’t quite right in Tony Stark’s universe. It’d be interesting to tell her that his woes were _because_ he wasn’t in the right universe.

God, he should really stop tormenting himself. He should just stop thinking about Steve, about Barnes, about how perfect for each other and happy together they seemed, about how monumentally stupid it was to leave his perfect universe to come back here, about his equally stupid and masochistic decision to keep the memories from his perfect universe even though none of it was real—

Well, none of it _was_. It all just happened in his head, did it not? Only _he_ could remember them—except for Strange who’d seen Tony’s memories because of his freaky magic powers thing. But Tony was still fully convinced that the events in the other dimension weren’t genuine and there was no use thinking about them, for that very reason.

Only, he _couldn’t_ stop thinking about them. And seeing the Captain was all the more excruciating every fucking time, thanks to those memories.

Because _this_ Steve was not _that_ Steve. This Steve was only interested in mending their _friendship_ and nothing else because he was in love with someone else—with _Barnes_. Whereas _Tony_ was—

What _was_ he interested in?

The Boardroom phone sitting atop the table suddenly started beeping shrilly, startling Tony out of his thoughts again. He tried to cover up his inattention by clearing his throat and clasping his hands on the edge of the table. It was Pepper, quick on her reflexes, who bent towards the beeping machine to push the button on it with furrowed eyebrows.

“This better be an emergency, Bambi, because we’re still—“

“ _—I’m sorry for interrupting the meeting, Ms. Potts, but we have a Level 3 emergency here in the medical building of the Avengers compound._ ” It was FRIDAY’s anxious voice that filled the Boardroom instead of Pepper’s assistant, Mrs. Arbogast’s. “ _If I may, could I have a word with Mr. Stark immediately?_ ”

“Why don’t you call me in my secure phone so I can step out of the room and you can tell me what’s wrong?” Tony asked, fishing for his phone in the front pocket of his trousers. Pepper had confiscated it from him first thing upon setting foot in the Boardroom and viciously shut it off mouthing graphic threats upon Tony’s nuts if even a _shadow_ of that phone dared to make an appearance during the course of the meeting.

“ _I’m sorry, Boss, but we have no time for that. The Winter Soldier is currently in a rampage in the BARF hall,_ ” reported Tony’s AI.

It was as if Tony’s back was doused in ice-cold water. “What?! What happened? How was he triggered? Was it because of equipment malfunction?” There was no way he was standing up now because for sure his knees would give out from right under him.

“ _My analysis showed that the BARF didn’t malfunction. The anomaly must have originated on the part of the subject—a particularly traumatic memory could have caused it. You will have to review the BARF session footage later. But for now, you have to do something to help Captain Rogers subdue the Winter Soldier,_ ” FRIDAY suggested, panic lacing her voice that, for an artificial intelligence, eerily sounded like _actual_ panic.

Tony looked at the confounded faces surrounding him on the Boardroom table as if expecting them to come up with any suggestions, but like him, they looked on with wide eyes, gaping mouths and uncertain expressions.

“Wait— _why me_? What can I do from way over here? You’re not suggesting that I bust out a suit and kick Barnes’ ass, right? Cap will choke the living daylights out of me especially since the last time I tried to lay a finger on Barnes turned out so well… What about Nat or any of the others?” Tony was confused as to what kind of help FRIDAY was hoping he could give that his dread mixed with his befuddlement.

“ _Ms. Romanoff is assisting in the evacuation of the medical personnel along with Mr. Wilson, who was supposed to be on Command Center duty. Mr. Parker is in school. Colonel Rhodes is on a meeting with the Secretary of Defense in DC. Mr. Lang, Vision and Ms. Maximoff are on a surveillance mission in connection with a terrorist threat in Madripoor. Doctor Strange is attending to a situation in Australia. He and Ms. Maximoff have already been summoned in connection with what’s happening in the compound, but I believe it will take them at least an hour to get back here. Captain Rogers needs back-up and he needs it now. Not to mention the considerable and potential damage to the medical equipment and the integrity of the building if the Winter Soldier is not dealt with._ ”

“That’s it, I’m calling in the suit—“

“ _—there’s no need for the armor, Boss—_ “

“—then what exactly do you need _me_ for?” Tony was still stumped. He could hear the beginnings of a full-blown panic bubbling in his throat as sounds of a physical struggle and something presumably expensive being thrashed sprang in the background of FRIDAY’s call.

“ _I need you to sing to him. Sing to Sergeant Barnes._ ”

There was a collective gasp of puzzlement from the occupants of the Boardroom that echoed Tony’s own baffled exclamation. Could he have heard that wrong—he _must have_ heard FRIDAY wrong but had she just asked Tony to _sing_ to Barnes?!

“I’m sorry, _what_?” Tony asked, his voice half an octave higher.

“ _Sing to Sergeant Barnes, boss. It calms him to hear you sing,_ ” FRIDAY urged while, in the background, there was yet more sounds of expensive machinery being smacked around.

Tony gaped and stuttered, looked towards the others in the Boardroom as if they could shed light on his AI’s peculiar command, but they seemed as lost as he was. “Fry, I don’t—I don’t understand...wha—“

“ _Boss!—_ “

“—FRIDAY, have you got Tony on the line yet?” Cap’s voice seemed tinny but, at the same time, seemed as if it was spoken from somewhere faraway. Yet, the strain in the voice was unmistakable. The Captain wasn’t exactly out of breath, but trying to subdue the Winter Soldier without hurting Barnes must be taking some kind of toll on the super soldier already.

“Steve! Are you all right—are you hurt?” Tony absolutely loathed the concern that oozed out of his own voice with the question.

“No, but—“ Something that sounded like limbs colliding against limbs filled the Boardroom, and Steve was momentarily distracted from what he was saying. “—but I can’t snap Bucky out of it. It’s just like what happened in the cinema before. Only this time, he’s got…both arms, and the one you made for him is…is strong. I’m having some trouble putting him down, and FRIDAY said there’s something you can do…”

Yeah, Tony could _sing_ to Barnes. What the fuck—

“I don’t know about that…” Tony hesitated. It sounded 100% stupid and useless. Besides, he couldn’t very well break out into song in the middle of a damn Board meeting, could he? Goddamn FRIDAY… And goddamn Barnes, too!

“Do it!” Steve hollered, voice becoming more strained. “Bucky! Buck, it’s me, Steve. Snap out of it, pal. You gotta snap out of it, please. Please!” Steve continued, his pleas unheard by the person who had reverted back to the assassin that HYDRA had created. “I’ve got him on a headlock, Tony,” Steve informed, grunting with the sheer effort of holding down someone who had to be as strong as he was if not stronger because of a cybernetic appendage. “It’s not gonna be for long. Whatever it is…you’re planning on doing, you gotta do it now!”

Tony turned towards Pepper for some sort of guidance or nod of approval. He highly doubted that this crazy— _harebrained_ , really—move was going to work, but he was inclined to put his faith on FRIDAY. And if FRIDAY said this was necessary, then it must be.

“Shit…” Tony groaned before reaching to pull the phone closer to him. This was going to be a Board meeting for the books, that was for fucking sure! “FRIDAY, patch me through the PA system.”

When he was patched through, Tony clenched his jaw and ordered in the most commanding voice he could muster, “Stand down, Soldier.”

Sounds of a struggle still emanated from the speaker phone, but Tony liked to think it lessened when he’d spoken up. He hoped that he was able to successfully catch the Winter Soldier’s attention. If Tony was bloody singing for an audience, it might as well be the _right_ audience.

“Barnes. Are you listening to me?” Tony tentatively asked. “It’s _Tony_. Tony Stark. Snap out of this. You don’t want to hurt Steve. He’s your... _Look_ —you don’t want to hurt _anybody_.” He inwardly grimaced. He could’ve delivered that a lot better, but there was no use wanting to take it back. “I know you don’t. Try to calm down so that Steve can release you.”

“Tony.” Now, _that_ was unmistakably Barnes in a gravelly voice that didn’t sound like him at all. Tony wasn’t talking to Barnes at that moment. This was the _Winter Soldier_.

“Yes, this is Tony. Do you know who I am?”

There was a bit of a lull. Tony’s breath caught in his throat in anticipation whether or not the brainwashed assassin recognized who he was. But his hopes were dashed when, from the other end of the line, renewed sounds of a vigorous struggle could be heard once more. The Winter Soldier was trying to break free from the Captain’s hold.

“To—ny. Not wor…king! Do something else!” Steve grunted from the other end of the line, still trying to keep the Soldier restrained somehow.

Ah fuck it!

Taking a deep, resigned breath, Tony started singing, “ _every breath you take, every move you make, every bond you break, every step you take, I'll be watching you._ ” It was the first song that came to his mind. “ _Every single day, every word you say, every game you play, every night you stay, I'll be watching you._ ” He crooned, closing his eyes tightly to keep from feeling self-conscious that there were a shit ton of other people listening to him belt it out to _The Police_.

He kept on singing: “ _Oh, can't you see? You belong to me. How my poor heart aches with every step you take. Every move you make, every vow you break, every smile you fake, every claim you stake, I'll be watching you…_ ”

Tony knew he was supposed to be singing for Barnes—to snap Barnes out of the Winter Soldier headspace. But at the same time, he knew that _Steve_ was there. Steve was listening. “ _Since you've gone I've been lost without a trace. I dream at night I can only see your face. I look around but it's you I can't replace. I feel so cold and I long for your embrace. I keep crying baby, baby please…_ ”

Tony didn’t know why his heart felt heavy all of a sudden. The song wasn’t supposed to mean anything to him or even to the person for the benefit of whom he was singing. This was nothing but a sick, twisted mechanism to calm a brainwashed, metal-armed super soldier from a murderous rampage. But his heart in the vicinity of where his arc reactor used to sit seemed to think otherwise.

He realized that he missed Steve. _His_ Steve—his husband. Tony didn’t know it was possible to miss someone who wasn’t real. But he did. Very much so.

The sad part was Tony was never going to get his Steve back. His Steve was already happy with _his_ Tony. While Tony was here where he was supposed to be, still guarded around his family and around the Captain. He thought it was only rational, especially since every time he looked at Steve, there was a war within him: he kept seeing Steve who had turned his back on Tony and Steve who’d sworn unending love to him. If that wasn’t enough to make him cagey around somebody, he didn’t know what was.

Fighting down the lump in his throat, Tony kept singing, “ _Oh, can't you see? You belong to me. How my poor heart aches with every step you take. Every move you make, every vow you break, every smile you fake, every claim you stake, I'll be watching you. Every move you make, every step you take, I'll be watching you. I'll be watching you…_ ”

The other end of the phone line fell silent. There were no sounds of a struggle, of anyone restraining or being restrained. A similar hush had fallen in the Boardroom as well.

“ _I’ll be watching you…_ ” Tony ended the song on a note that seemed undeniably melancholy to his own ears.

After a period of silence, it was Steve who spoke up first from the other end of the line, “Tony?”

A beat. “Yeah?”

“He’s out. He…fell unconscious while you were, uh, singing,” reported the Captain, haltingly. “Thank you.”

Clearing his throat to hide the sudden awkwardness, Tony remarked, “I’ll see you when I get back, OK—Cap? We’ll figure out what happened.”

“Tony, I… OK. OK… Thank you. Bye.” And Tony cut the call before Steve could get another syllable out of his mouth after that.

He suddenly felt drained, like he’d been pushing a stalled bus by himself all morning. He stared at Pepper through the curtain of his eyelashes to try to gauge her reaction to that very interesting presentation by the Chairman of the Board. Pepper just looked on with a soft smile and a gentle nod.

Tony officiously cleared his throat again and, squaring his shoulders, awarded each and every person in the Boardroom, whether rooted to where they stood or nailed to where they sat, with a smoldering gaze that could probably corrode metal. “That was an interesting episode, wasn’t it?

“If anyone outside the four walls of this room gets wind of what had happened here today, you know whose heads will be rolling,” threatened Tony. “Don’t think for one second that I would have any qualms about throwing the whole lot of you out on your asses.” He smiled sweetly but poisonously at each and every one of the inadvertent audience to his accidental display. They all stared back at him with varying degrees of apprehension on their faces but they all expressed assent, one way or another.

“Right then… Where _were_ we?” Tony asked, abruptly steering the meeting back to boredom country.

-0-0-0-

The first thing that Tony did upon returning to the Avengers compound that evening was to slink off to his workshop to watch the footage of Barnes’ BARF session that morning that caused quite a stir not only in the medical building of the compound but in the SI Board meeting also what with their Chairman’s impromptu display of vocal prowess during the damn meeting.

FRIDAY had assured him that only a handful of the medical personnel in attendance during the session actually suffered minor injuries. Mostly, there was only panic especially during the activation of the evacuation protocol to prevent danger to human lives when the Winter Soldier was triggered.

And _that_ was precisely what Tony wanted answered, which was why he’d barricaded himself in the workshop to scrutinize the BARF session footage with FRIDAY’s help: why was the Winter Soldier triggered?

Tony’d thought only the recitation of the programming words could trigger the HYDRA assassin, but this was the _second_ time that Barnes had accidentally slipped into the Winter Soldier headspace and turned violent. There was already a need to review their procedural assumptions so that any more similar incidents could be avoided while Barnes was still undergoing integration treatment to allow him to be in full control of the Winter Soldier in the future.

FRIDAY, of course, gave him forewarning about what the footage contained, and rightfully so, because it pertained to the fateful events of December 16, 1991. Tony didn’t think he’d have any issues with seeing how his parents had died again. He thought the initial shock and blinding rage had already passed, that he could observe this with nothing else but clinical interest.

He was wrong.

Apparently, the rage would never pass. The emotional scarring was permanent.

But this time, at least, he knew that instead of two victims, there were actually _three_.

Tony found himself more drawn to the look on Barnes’ face as the latter watched the memory unfold before him on the BARF panels. The genius could read guilt, devastation, shame, sorrow and regret, clear as day, in every line, plane, glassiness of the eyes, clenching of the jaw and play of shadows on the former Sergeant’s visage.

It was plain heartbreaking to watch.

And then, there was that moment when the memory branched off into the modified one. Tony wasn’t expecting it that he’d nearly keeled over from the wheeled stool he was sitting on in shock. In his defense, he really didn’t know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t _this_. This was _Barnes_ ’ psyche, his coping mechanism, his way to deal with the guilt.

“ _Take care of Tony for me. Take care of him. Watch out for him. Protect him. Don’t leave his side._ ” There was blood on Tony’s mother’s lips. She was close to death while the Winter Soldier—no— _Barnes_ looked on, still coaxing her to fight the inevitable.

“ _No, Maria!_ ”

“ _Promise me, Sergeant. Tell him… Tell him I love him._ ” The image of Tony’s mother on the BARF panels smiled sadly, still clutching at Barnes’ metal hand like a lifeline.

" _Maria, I—_ "

" _Promise me, Sergeant... Promise me..._ "

" _I... I promise. I promise, Maria. I'll take care of him._ ”

And memories of Bucky from Tony’s Utopia washed over him like a calming wave caressing the beach. _That_ Bucky fought his programming and saved Tony’s mother. _That_ Bucky was one of his best friends, as close to him as Rhodey was, as familiar to him as someone he’d grown up with. Tony’s heart ached anew. This wouldn’t do. This wouldn’t do at all. That other universe was beginning to bleed into his reality already when it wasn’t supposed to.

Because _it wasn’t real_.

“ _I promise, Maria. I'll take care of him._ ”

The memories altered by the BARF weren’t real, too. They were just a subject’s way to deal with unsettled guilt, unresolved conflict, and unanswered questions. It wouldn’t change the events that the memories were based on, but it would make the subject less screwed-up in the head.

Apparently, Barnes’ way of being less screwed-up in the head was to vow to look out for and take care of Tony. Tony didn’t know what to make of that.

The pneumatic doors to the workshop slid open with a hiss and Barnes entered, carrying a tray of food. Noticing footage of the BARF session playing on Tony’s holo-screen, he hesitated for all of three heartbeats before steeling himself and making his way towards Tony anyway.

“What are you doing delivering food? Shouldn’t you be confined to the sick bed or something? You’ve had quite the ordeal,” commented Tony, awarding Barnes with momentary attention before turning back to the holo-screen and continuing to watch the rest of the footage for what seemed like the nth time.

Barnes shrugged and placed the tray on the table by Tony’s elbow. “They don’t see a reason to keep me in the med building after I regained consciousness, so they let me go.”

“Mind telling me what all that was about?” Tony asked, nodding towards the footage where the Captain had the Winter Soldier in a headlock while, in the background, Tony sang through the building’s PA system.

“I blacked out and apparently started attacking everyone within reach,” Barnes stated, shrugging again.

“No, um—I was referring to you calming down at the sound of me singing—I mean, what’s _that_ all about?” Tony asked as casually as he could so as not to put Barnes on the defensive that would probably make him clam up even more.

“I dunno… Your voice just…calms me, I guess,” vaguely replied the former HYDRA assassin. “I…get these nightmares and the only thing that gets me out of that dark place I’m always at the cusp of is the sound of you singing, so I ask FRIDAY to show me footage and…yeah, I calm down, sometimes I even fall back to sleep.”

A pregnant pause.

“Are you mad?” Bucky asked, out of the blue, chewing on his lower lip.

Tony made a nonchalant sound. “About…what?”

Barnes shrugged again. He seemed to like doing that today. He chewed his upper lip that time, too. “About what happened.”

“Which part of what happened?” Tony asked cheekily. “What the Winter Soldier thrashed could be replaced. No one got seriously injured. You seem fine. I say no harm, no foul…”

“I mean, are you mad that I pull footage of you singing without you knowing about it?”

Ah, _that_.

It was Tony’s turn to shrug. “I would think what does it for you is your better half reciting the Declaration of Independence or something,” snorted the genius. He really didn’t have an opinion right now on the surreptitious use of what he thought was his sub-par singing for a super soldier lullaby. Tony didn’t know what to make of that either.

“My what?” Barnes asked quizzically.

“Your better half, your significant other, your paramour, your lover… _Steve_.” Tony rolled his eyes.

Barnes had the audacity to look aghast. “I’m not in a relationship with Steve!” He vehemently denied.

Tony cocked his head, feigning surprise. “Could’ve fooled me,” he remarked, hiding his interest by seizing a nearby hand tool and poking at the nearest piece of machinery. He didn’t even know what machinery it was, but he just started poking at it just to keep his hands and his attention occupied. “Why not? Don’t tell me it’s because he isn’t attractive or worthy enough because—hello!—can anyone hold a candle to Captain _fucking_ America?”

“No—I… Steve’s just my friend,” answered the former Sergeant, shifting his weight from one foot to another awkwardly. “I’m still too messed up and besides…” He trailed off at that, not finishing the statement. He’d clammed up, content to just tug on an earlobe wordlessly.

“Besides, what?”

“Besides _nothing_ ,” countered Barnes. “I’m not ready for…for that.”

Feeling irritated all of a sudden with how flippant Barnes had seemed, Tony awarded the other brunette with a near-seething expression, one finely-arched eyebrow raised. After everything that Cap had sacrificed for this upstart, he was rejecting Steve— _what_?! Certainly didn’t look like rejection to Tony when he’d seen them _sucking face_ on the night of his birthday! What—like Captain America wasn’t good enough for a brainwashed, amnesiac amputee?!

“So you aren't,” Tony muttered disdainfully. “Thanks for the food, but I’m kinda in the middle of something so you have to go,” crassly dismissed the genius, not mincing his words. He punctuated his dismissal by adjusting his wheeled stool to turn his back completely on Barnes and towards whatever the fuck tech was in front of him.

He knew how cruel he sounded. To Barnes. Now. After the trauma that the latter had just gone through with the resurfacing of his more murderous personality. But Tony really wasn’t in the mood to talk. He felt messed up, too. There were so many things galloping around in his mind right now.

“Oh. OK,” Barnes answered with resignation. “You’re welcome. I’ll, uh… Guess I’ll see you around then.”

Tony resolutely kept his back towards the other man until his pneumatic doors hissed again to signal that Barnes had gone.


	20. 20. BUCKY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Steve's 99th birthday. There's a request, a lovely surprise and a realization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy, Happy Friday y'all!!!
> 
> I'd like to begin these notes by thanking the regular readers and commenters to this baby; you guys always make my week with your cheer-reading, your insights and your boundless love for the story and our loverly, loverly boys--Steve, Tony and Bucky. I appreciate your comments, thoughts and insights about the story. 
> 
> That being said, I'd like to remind everyone to always be courteous when expressing your sentiments especially if you're replying to someone else's comments. We, all of us, are entitled to our own opinion. The way one person reads and enjoys the story is hugely different from how another does. The way you interpret the story as you read is also different from how I interpret it as I write it. So, please try not to *impose* your understanding upon any of us. And if you can't write anything uplifting or constructive, then I'd rather not hear from you. I am otherwise welcoming of any and all opinions, but if you're just going to criticize as if I'm being *paid* to write this or as if I owe you anything, then don't bother leaving anything for me... So there, let us all be reminded of fandom courtesy and kindness to our fellow fan. ^_^
> 
> Now, after that rant (which I just have to get off my chest somehow), I present you with the next chapter. Please let me know what you guys think, how you think events in this chapter will contribute to the bigger picture that we're all trying to draw. If you spot any typos, grammatical errors, inconsistencies and issues as to the flow and voice of the story, let me know and I'll see what can be done.
> 
> Oh and I've pegged the Barton family farm to be within driving distance from the Avengers compound. Hence, Tony's chosen mode of transportation. Watching the movies, the exact location of Clint's family's place seemed vague to me...
> 
> Enjoy your pre-Valentine's weekend, everyone! Remember to spread love and good vibes. Aaaaaaand... Don't forget to enjoy this chappie!!! ^_^  
> \---

 

It was several steps on his way to the library in the compound’s residential building to surreptitiously meet with Natasha, Sam and Scott when Bucky realized he was humming it again. According to FRIDAY, the song was entitled _Every Breath You Take_ by a group called _The Police_. Bucky’d become interested to know everything about the tune that had gotten stuck in his head when, after three days from his most recent Winter Soldier blackout, he found himself humming it under his breath over and over.

It was also then that he’d gotten the sudden, unquenchable hankering to find out what exactly had snapped him out of that headspace.

It was _Tony’s singing_. Of course, it was. It was Tony, singing that song over the PA system on FRIDAY’s urging, that had brought Bucky out of that dark headspace and back to being himself again. That was good enough to ensure that the song was going to be stuck in Bucky’s head for the foreseeable future.

“Why did you even have to _call_ Tony, Fry? Couldn’t you have just played past recordings of Tony singing and it would’ve worked just as well?” Bucky couldn’t help but chastise the AI after Tony’s curt dismissal of him in the workshop. It was unclear to him _why_ Tony got annoyed that night that warranted turning Bucky away so unceremoniously, but he remembered that they had been talking about Bucky pulling footage of Tony singing in secret and something about Steve as well.

“ _Protocol dictates that I get in touch with Mr. Stark at the soonest possible time in the event of any Level 3 or higher emergency in the facility, Sergeant. And since he would be on the line anyway to receive my report, principles of expediency and convenience support the solution that was employed,_ ” FRIDAY had reasoned out in a matter-of-fact tone. “ _It was a gamble based on your previous behavior and it worked._

“ _Should I not have called and informed Mr. Stark of how he could be of help to snap you out of it?_ ” FRIDAY had asked, no doubt to take note of what _not_ to do should a similar situation present itself in the future. After all, Tony’d said she _was_ a learning program. She was in the process of learning now.

“I wouldn’t have wanted him to find out like that,” Bucky had muttered back, wistful. Actually, Bucky wouldn’t have wanted Tony to find out _at all_. He’d felt his face grow hot with sheer embarrassment. God, what must Tony have thought when he found out that Bucky was this _oddball_ who got a kick out of secretly listening to recordings of him singing!

“ _I would think what does it for you is your better half reciting the Declaration of Independence or something,_ ” Tony had said, nonchalantly amused. Tony had thought that what calmed him down was _Steve_ reciting the Declaration of Independence!

And Tony had thought Steve was his—what— _better half_ , that he and Steve were in some kind of romantic relationship?! Why would he think that? Had Tony somehow suspected Steve of having romantic feelings for Bucky—an intelligent guess, maybe? Or did the genius actually _know_ about Steve confessing the feelings he’d been harboring for Bucky?

The former Sergeant didn’t even understand why he cared about what Tony thought regarding the real deal between him and Steve—

Then, there was also the matter of _Steve_. Because of that untimely trigger to his Winter Soldier programming, Steve also now knew how it was _Tony’s singing voice_ that calmed Bucky down. He dreaded to think about the conclusions that Steve could draw from that, which would effectively rub salt in the still-gaping wound of Bucky’s ‘rejection’ of his affections.

He didn’t want to hurt Steve any more than he already has, but he also couldn’t help it if Tony just has this…this _effect_ on him. Well, it was all such a goddamned mess!

Now, it was nearly two weeks after that Winter Soldier episode—Tony hasn’t spoken to him because, according to FRIDAY, he was flitting to and from the Stark Industries’ Head Office in midtown and the R&D facility in Boston that even Bucky’s arm adjustments had to be postponed; of late, Steve would always fall quiet, more so than the usual, around him; and he didn’t have the benefit of the distraction that BARF sessions afforded since they were suspended indefinitely to make room for repairs in the BARF hall that the Winter Soldier and Captain America had thrashed.

It was such a blessing that Steve’s birthday was coming up in a couple of days and he, along with Sam, Nat and Scott, was thinking about doing something special to celebrate it. Otherwise, he would go mad with all the crazy-ass thoughts constantly running through his head.

By the time he got to the library, without running into Steve and having to mumble half-assed excuses to try to conceal their celebration-planning meeting, Nat, Sam and Scott were already there in a secluded corner, whispering among themselves to come up with options for the Fourth of July festivities.

“Sam suggests spending an afternoon in a children’s shelter in the city. Scott thinks maybe an arcade party or something. We can invite kids from a nearby children’s shelter just the same. I think there’s a Fourth of July fair near Clint’s farm. We can go there; Clint and Laura would love it if we could go to their place for a change. And we can share a meal with some kids from the neighboring juvenile detention facility,” relayed Natasha, folding her arms over her chest and leaning sideways against a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf. “It’ll all boil down to you, being Steve’s oldest friend. What do you think he’ll like best?”

Bucky suddenly felt uncomfortable, being put on the spot like this on the matter of Steve’s preferences. It _was_ true that he was Steve’s best and oldest friend, but it was already questionable if he was still the authority on what Steve would like best when given a set of options. He liked to think he still knew Steve, what Steve would like, what Steve’s preferences were. But then, if he were so attuned to Steve, then how come he had never found out that the runt-turned-super soldier has always been in love with him? And if he were such an authority on what would make Steve happy, how come he couldn’t find it in his heart to return his best friend’s regard for him in the way that the blonde, no doubt, deserved?

It wasn’t that Steve was difficult to love because he wasn’t. It wasn’t that Bucky harbored some kind of internal homophobia because the day and age guaranteed that there was no more reason to. So if Steve wasn’t difficult to love and Bucky was open to the possibility of loving someone of the same gender, what _was_ stopping Bucky from reciprocating Steve’s affection for him?

“I, uh, think…he’ll appreciate it regardless,” Bucky opined. “As I see it, there would only be a difference in location and the general set-up of the party. What would matter to Steve is which one would ensure the attendance of the most number of his family members,” answered Bucky with a casual shrug. It seemed like a safe enough and rational answer. He hoped it was enough to cover the fact he didn’t really give a direct response to the question.

“You’re thinking about Tony,” Natasha bluntly pointed out, giving Scott and Sam meaningful looks also.

Bucky, reeling, nearly gave a perceptible start. “ _What_?” Damn, was he that obvious?

“I mean, Steve would hardly care what kind of party it was, if _Tony_ could be there,” Natasha clarified. “You must have already noticed that there is lingering tension between the two of them because of last year’s conflict, and Steve’s still desperate to reach out to Tony,” pointed Natasha out and then, narrowing her eyes, continued. “Why? What did you think I was referring to?”

Of course, _that_ was what it was all about… “No—yeah… Stevie’s told me about that. He even asked for my help to try to get to Tony since I have access to him because of my arm adjustments.” For a moment there, Bucky’d thought Natasha must have read him like a book and that his Tony-filled thoughts were that obvious in the blue of his eyes.

“Well, if Tony’s the consideration then celebrating within the city limits is out of the question. It’ll attract too much fanfare and paparazzo,” Scott reasoned, hopping up to sit atop a low shelf and tucking a leg under the other one.

“ _But_ if we do this at Clint’s, it’s too remote and Tony might find it too much of an effort to travel to the middle of nowhere,” Sam countered, mirroring Natasha’s stance and hugging his arms close to his chest.

“Do you think you can talk to Tony, Bucky? Find out which party he’d most likely show up for and, you know, try to convince him to make an appearance,” Natasha requested, leaning towards Bucky. The request was echoed by murmurs of the same sentiment from both Sam and Scott. “We’ll take care of all the other arrangements—food, decorations, set-up…everything else. You’re to make sure that _Tony’s_ there, though.”

After the events of two weeks ago and Tony’s sudden and inexplicable coldness towards him, Bucky didn’t know if he was still likely to persuade Tony to show up for Steve’s party. Or if he even _wanted_ to do that. It was just that, now that Tony knew that Bucky liked to listen to him singing, Bucky didn’t think he could show his face to the genius. Just thinking about the idea of standing before and _talking_ to Tony made his guts twist in uncomfortable knots.

“I, uh—I dunno… I haven’t talked to him in a while. FRIDAY says he’s not in the compound right now,” the former assassin remarked, doubtful. He would have wrung his hands together, but then his metal one would have completely rendered the bones of his flesh hand into powder, so he thought better of it.

“Just try, buddy. You’re the only one in the unique position of being close to _both_ Steve and Tony. If anyone can convince Tony that Steve would like nothing more than to see him there, it’s you,” Sam lucidly commented. “And frankly, right now—you’re the only who gets to talk to him on a regular basis.”

It was at that point that Bucky suddenly regretted having been able to get access to Tony through his arm adjustments and to successfully persuade Tony to have that birthday dinner with them. Now the rest of the team thought he could perform magic and do miracles, like get Tony to socialize with them in the name of attending a party for Steve.

“I’m not making any promises,” Bucky mumbled, shrugging. “But I’ll try.” He was so seriously in doubt, he thought he’d marginally have more success _training pigs to fly_ than getting Tony to say yes.

“So, we’re decided then? We’re going with whichever party Tony’s most likely to go to?” Scott asked in confirmation. Nat and Sam agreed, and Bucky just wisely kept his trap shut.

And just like that, the fact that Steve’s birthday was coming up was no longer a blessing.

Bucky was in the relative safety and comfort of his bedroom later that day, trying to read a book but finding that he’d been reading the same paragraph seven times, while practicing in his mind how he was supposed to approach Tony and persuade him to join them for Steve’s birthday party, when a knock on his bedroom door brought him out of his troubled reverie.

 He nearly brained himself on the edge of his door when he found out who was on the other side of it. It was Tony Stark, wearing a thin-lipped smile and the remnants of a business attire—long-sleeved dress shirt with its sleeves haphazardly folded up to his elbows, dark blue waistcoat, matching trousers, and leather shoes. And with the long nimble fingers of his right hand, he was twirling a precision screwdriver.

Speak of the devil. Tony had been persistently running through Bucky’s thoughts even more so than usual since the secret library meeting that the latter thought he could’ve just as easily summoned the man there.

“Hey,” Tony greeted with a blink of those impossibly big brown eyes of his. “You busy?”

To Bucky’s utmost shame, he gawked at Tony. _Gawked_. Like a fuckin’ ignoramus.

Getting his wits about him, Bucky inwardly shook himself out of his shock and replied: “Um, I’m…” Well, _tried_ to reply, at least.

“I just got back and FRIDAY says that your arm hasn’t been adjusted in twelve days. So, I decided to go here directly to make the adjustments. Can I come in or are you busy?” Tony asked in his characteristic mile-a-minute manner.

“No, I’m, um…” He just needed to jumpstart his brain, get a handle on his speech and maybe he’d be able to say something half-intelligent in the next two minutes. “I’m—I’m not busy… Yeah sure, come in.” Bucky stepped aside as an invitation for Tony to come inside his bedroom.

The newcomer brazenly made for the bed, plopped down on it as if it was his and then slapped a patch of bedding beside him as an invitation to Bucky, this time, to take a seat beside him. “Let’s get right down to it, yeah?”

That…didn’t sound right somehow. But Bucky decided not to pay it any mind and sat down next to Tony. The latter dived right into the arm’s access panel, into the intricate arrangement of wires inside the sophisticated piece of machinery. Bucky, through observant half-lidded eyes, preferred to just watch the other man work. He wasn’t going to initiate conversation unless Tony did. He didn’t want to have to unknowingly offend the other brunette again especially since he was still mulling over how to convince him to join them for Steve’s birthday.

“I want to apologize,” Tony remarked from out of the blue, not breaking his focus on the work before him that Bucky had to check if the genius was speaking to him or just talking to himself. “I was a jerk the last time we talked, throwing you out like that—like an ingrate…after you’ve given me food, no less. I really don’t mind that you watch footage of me singing to calm down. We all have our different ways of dealing, and if this is yours then I’m just glad that I can help,” Tony intoned, his manner simple, even and calm. There was no eye contact, but Bucky could still feel Tony’s sincerity in the quiet apology.

Bucky breathed deeply. This was his chance. “I accept your apology _on one condition_ …”

It was then that Tony looked up to meet Bucky’s gaze. There was a flutter of curiosity in those well-defined brows. “O—kaay, what condition?”

“It’s Steve’s birthday in a few days and we’re planning to have a party. We’re considering a children’s shelter in the city or an arcade place or Clint’s farm where there’ll be an Independence Day fair. It being a _family_ celebration and all, it ain’t complete without you, so you gotta go—come with us. I know that _Steve_ would really love it if you could be there,” Bucky requested, looking into Tony’s eyes squarely—not wanting to be the first one to buckle by looking away in embarrassment.

Tony just stared back, tinkering momentarily forgotten, in an expression that was a cross between doubtful and pondering. “Barnes, this isn’t just about the Accords and about Siberia, you know—“

“—please, Tony,” Bucky interrupted, unwavering. “It would mean a lot to Steve if you could be there…”

“How old will he be anyway?” The genius segued, clearly wanting to distract Bucky from his train of thought. “Is he already a centenarian?”

“Almost,” replied Bucky with a small smile. “He’s 99.”

After a period of silence during which only the tinkling of metal against metal filled the room, Tony spoke after a resigned exhale: “ _that’s_ really your condition for accepting my apology? You know, just so you know, Starks don’t apologize lightly. Me apologizing for something is _rarer_ than a one-off…”

“Come on—just go with us and take a break,” urged Bucky persistently.

“I’ve just come from a break. I took a beach vacay for my birthday, remember?” Tony changed the subject again. But when Bucky just stared at him, deadpan, Tony sighed again and said, “all right, all right… I’ll go to Cap’s birthday. Just tell me where and what time and I’ll be there.”

“You promise?” Bucky didn’t want to sound like a whining kid, but he just wanted to make sure that Tony would keep his word.

“There better be _cake_ , ‘m just sayin’…” Tony joked, grumbling. But chortling once, Tony gave a curt nod in reassurance, and, without another word, returned to his work on the cybernetic arm.

-0-0-0-

Steve seemed pleasantly surprised when, supposedly on the way to a field training exercise, the quinjet deviated off course and deposited the Avengers in a juvenile detention facility where arrangements have been made for a small luncheon party in celebration of Captain America’s 99th birthday. They were warmly welcomed by the facility’s administrators, residents and the full complement of the Barton family, who was meeting them there before they were to proceed to the Independence Day fair in the afternoon and then to the Barton farm for the evening.

All the Avengers were accounted for, including Bucky; the children were all excited to be interacting with them; there were parlor games where mixed teams of Avengers and children participated, and even one or two dance presentations by the residents. Steve hasn’t stopped smiling since touching down in the facility and finding the surprise laid out for him

But once or twice, Bucky would catch Steve looking down on the ground with glumness dulling his otherwise bright blue eyes.

All his family _was_ accounted for with the exception of Tony. Despite Tony’s promise to Bucky that he would be there to celebrate Steve’s birthday with them and Bucky’s relay to him of detailed information about the celebration, he was yet to arrive. And Bucky knew that therein lay the only dark cloud in Steve’s otherwise perfect day.

Where _was_ Tony?

“So, how’s it feel to be 99?” Bucky joked, sidling up to Steve while the latter watched an ongoing three-legged relay race where Avengers paired off with kids were supposed to compete against each other.

“I imagine that it’s no different from being 100,” Steve bantered back, emphasizing that, in truth, Bucky was actually a year older than him, having been born in 1917.

“Oh _my_ last birthday doesn’t count ‘cause I was still asleep then. Technically, I’m also still _only_ 99,” reasoned Bucky with a lop-sided grin. “Were you really surprised by all this? You didn’t suspect that we were planning something for your birthday?”

Steve smiled brightly. “I had absolutely no idea. I didn’t expect any plans or—or _parties_ to celebrate my birthday. To be honest, I don’t feel like I still need a party. I already have everything I could ever want. With or without any celebration, this is, by far, the best birthday I’ve ever had,” said Steve, meeting Bucky’s eyes meaningfully.

Bucky couldn’t think of an appropriate reply to that, so he just enveloped Steve in a hug. He couldn’t reciprocate Steve’s feelings for him—not yet or, perhaps, not ever, but the fact still remained that Steve was the most important person in Bucky’s life. He would go to the ends of the world and back for Steve.

“I’m just as glad to be here, spending today with you, pal,” Bucky murmured against the side of his friend’s face. He tightened his arms around the blonde and chortled at their collective good fortune.

Who _would_ have thought that they’d find themselves here and that, despite the bitterest of adversities in both their lives, after _seventy-five long years_ or thereabouts, they were still together, still the best of friends?

He heard Steve snicker as well before breaking the embrace. It was then that he saw an unmistakable sports car in fire engine-red driving in through the access road behind Steve, and the former HYDRA asset knew that the one that Steve was actually secretly waiting and hoping for has finally arrived:

Tony.

Breathing an inward sigh of relief, Bucky bit his lips between his teeth into a tight-lipped smile. “ _But_ I think you’re lying through your teeth when you said that you already have everything you could ever want,” he teased the birthday celebrator. “Because I know of at least _one thing_ you still need, buddy.”

Steve smiled, his expression a mixture of wistfulness and puzzlement. To which, Bucky’s only response was a hearty pat on a meaty shoulder. Cocking his head towards the direction he knew Tony would be coming from, Bucky contented himself with watching Steve’s reaction as the latter turned his head towards the same direction.

Tony disembarked from the driver’s seat of the red sports car, carrying a square package no bigger than the palm of his hand. He was not in his usual grease monkey threads nor was he in his tech magnate attire. He was, though, presentably dressed down in black denim jeans, black Chuck Taylors, and a white V-necked shirt with a checked red-and-blue sports jacket thrown over it. His eyes were, at first, hidden behind dark aviator sunglasses before he took them off and tucked them in the right front pocket of his jeans.

Watching Steve’s facial expression change and light up as Tony arrived and made his way closer was probably one of the most satisfying things Bucky had ever witnessed. Steve was like an excited child about to meet Santa Claus for the first time, or like a person seeing a long-lost friend again after a protracted separation.

Steve gave his best friend a quick grin before hurrying to welcome Tony. Bucky, out of respect, went to follow Steve but stayed three paces behind the blonde. He was just as happy to see Tony, too. He was happy that _Steve_ was happy. That was it.

“Happy 99th, Cap,” Tony greeted with a small smile. There was still tension in the tight lines and angles of the other brunette’s face, but the important thing was _he was there_.

“You came,” Steve marveled with a thankful smile of his own. “I’m so glad you came, Tony.”

“Well, this _is_ a birthday party for _family_ so I thought I’d try to catch it for a change,” answered the genius, looking from Steve to Bucky and smiling at the latter in acknowledgment. “This is for you, by the way. Decency dictates that one’s not supposed to show up for a birthday party empty-handed…” He held out the square package towards the birthday celebrator.

“Y—you shouldn’t have, really. Your being here is more than enough birthday gift for me,” Steve unabashedly declared, but he still gingerly accepted the proffered package. “But thank you… Thanks for this.”

“Go on, open it,” pressed Tony, a twinkle in his eyes finally showing through.

And Steve did open the package to find a leather-strapped wristwatch that looked rather elegant in its simplicity, nestled in a bed of velvet. It was probably worth a fortune. “Tony, I—“ Steve began, embarrassed to be receiving such an extravagant present.

“—it’s terribly bad luck to reject a gift,” Tony interrupted in reminder, stuffing his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and shifting his weight from one foot to another.

“I wasn’t going to,” replied Steve. “Thank you for this. And thank you for being here.” Steve fondly slapped a hand against Tony’s bicep and squeezed. To Bucky, Steve might have done that to serve the dual purpose of giving the other brunette a thankful gesture and convincing himself that Tony was really standing there, present and accounted for.

Steve’s mood decidedly improved after Tony’s arrival. There were no more wistful smiles directed at the ground, but Bucky still caught him once or twice, searching the crowd for the genius-billionaire to content himself that the latter was indeed there with them, and grinning from ear to ear.

Bucky, for his part, stuck close to Sam and Natasha instead of edging towards Tony even though he wanted to. He wanted to tease Tony for being late; he wanted to ask Tony why he decided to gift Steve with a wristwatch; he wanted to know if Tony liked the cake. But he didn’t. Today was about _Steve_. Today was supposed to be for Steve to bask in his family being complete for the first time in a long time, to further patch things up with the genius after the conflict that had their family tearing at the seams. So it was the _two of them_ —Steve and Tony—who should be talking.

And talk, they did. There was even one time when Bucky had caught Tony chuckling at what Steve had said. Of course, Steve was just stupid happy the entire time until it was time for them to leave the juvenile detention facility and go to the fair.

“It’s funny—you’re the one who’d invited me, but you haven’t spoken to me since I got here.” Tony, without any warning, was suddenly beside Bucky, keeping up with the latter as the group decided to walk the short distance to the fair grounds.

“Today isn’t about me,” was Bucky’s simple reply.

“You think I’m being unnecessarily dickish towards your best friend,” Tony said after a beat. It wasn’t a question.

“I’m just as guilty for Siberia, but, somehow, I get the feeling that it’s just _him_ you’re still trying to avoid,” pointed Bucky out.

“This isn’t just about Siberia. Or the Accords,” Tony repeated, clenching his jaw.

“He came back to the Avengers compound to try to fix things with you, you know,” Bucky mumbled, wistfully searching out Steve among their party. The Captain was a few paces in front of them, walking with Natasha and Sam and laughing at something Sam had said. Of course, Bucky knew as much because Steve had told him so on the evening of Tony’s birthday when the blonde’s fount of guilt had finally burst free and he’d needed a listening ear badly.

“Did he?” Tony asked, emotionlessly. “I wonder _why_ he wanted to fix things with me…” He turned towards Bucky, his otherwise friendly and warm face inscrutable.

“He’d want to fix things with you because you’re his _friend_. You’re _family_.”

“Yeah, that’s what I am to him,” Tony absent-mindedly mumbled back after a period of terse silence, and then kept pace with Bucky without another word.

Bucky didn’t know what it was about that last statement, but it suddenly dawned on him that Tony was also hurting because of his relationship with Steve that was still fraught with tension. There was an aura of melancholy and mourning about the other brunette that made it simply heartbreaking for Bucky to gaze upon him.

“ _Take care of Tony for me. Take care of him. Watch out for him. Protect him. Don’t leave his side._ ”

“ _I promise, Maria. I'll take care of him."_

“That’s what you are to each and every one of these people here, you know,” Bucky guaranteed to him. “Just in case you still haven’t processed that in that big brain of yours,” he teased to make light of the melancholy that he could plainly see on Tony’s face. “That’s what you are to _me_ , too.”

Tony beamed at him, those big brown eyes of his twinkling warmly again. The genius gave Bucky’s flesh shoulder a pat and a squeeze before their conversation turned to happier topics like how Tony enjoyed the cake.

Bucky fell into comfortable companionship with the team again at least until the fireworks display on the fair grounds when Bucky inadvertently glanced at Tony, who was squeezed between Jim and Peter. And it suddenly hit him. His heart momentarily stopped and something warm burgeoned in his chest like fireworks exploding within his soul—or what was left of it. Within what was left of his soul that _Tony_ had been so generously helping him nurture.

_“Take care of Tony for me. Take care of him. Watch out for him. Protect him. Don’t leave his side… Promise me, Sergeant… Tell him—tell him I love him.”_

How _had_ Steve said the BARF worked exactly?

_“—Buck, that was your own subconscious speaking through the memory modification—”_

Shit.

Of course!

Shit, shit, _shit_.

Looking at Tony now while half-choking over whatever it was that had lodged itself in Bucky’s throat, the latter came to terms with everything now: he liked being around Tony; he was comfortable around Tony because the latter was always upfront with him and refused to deal with him with kid gloves; he liked doing things for Tony because he liked to see the genius smile; it was Tony’s voice that calmed him, got him out of that Winter Soldier headspace; he was frequently rendered in awe and speechless by Tony’s passion, wit, intelligence and charm; he was drawn to those enormous and enigmatic brown eyes, those deft fingers, that smile…

He had let Steve down easy because he’d said he wasn’t ready for love. But that wasn’t true because _he was_.

Bucky Barnes couldn’t reciprocate Steve Rogers’ affections because he was drawn to _someone else_. He was drawn to the man whose parents had died by his hand. The man who, despite Bucky’s culpability for his misery, still decided to use his smarts and his generosity to help Bucky try to accept everything—both the good and the bad—about himself…

How could he have realized it only now, though?

Bucky Barnes was in love with Tony Stark.


	21. 21. STEVE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A campfire karaoke, a late-night exchange where Bucky is more 'take-charge' than he's given credit for. Steve and Tony *finally* talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday to everyone! Friday is really, by far, my most favorite day of the week. Not only because I have completed a chapter for update but because it's the beginning of the weekend!!!! YEEEES!!! I am going to be binge-watching all three seasons of AVENGERS ASSEMBLE over the weekend, and I'll see if I can make a dent in its 78 episodes!!! Woohoo!!!
> 
> So, this is it--the first part of the long-awaited confrontation between Steve and Tony where they hash out some things and yet skirt over others. This was a long time coming and I thought these boys were finished with walking on eggshells around each other. Do let me know your thoughts and sentiments! Is Steve redeeming himself yet in your eyes? Also, if you spot typos, grammatical errors and inconsistencies, please don't hesitate to point themselves out, a'ight?
> 
> We are finally moving along to the next part of these boys' journey now that feelings are surfacing... However, I am thinking of doing an INTERLUDE chapter featuring Steve and his decision to return to the Avengers compound upon hearing that Tony'd fallen into a coma... I'm considering it--do you guys think it will lend to the overall continuity of the story or can it be done away with? If you've got thoughts on it, feel free to give me a poke... ^_^
> 
> Note that there might be a bit of a cliffhanger here...
> 
> Enjoy the weekend, my dearests and when reading this next chapter, remember to ENJOY!  
> \---

****The evening skies blanketing the expansive backyard of the Barton family farm were lit with a sprinkling of stars and a clear waxing gibbous moon. The tall trees lining the perimeter of the property and the hulking structure that was the barn were like dark unmoving sentinels, guarding the farm’s current occupants/revelers who were celebrating the birthday of their comrade.

While the handful of high-clearance and trusted SHIELD agents who’d deigned to attend the party to wish Steve a very happy birthday contented themselves with loitering inside the house, mingling around the dining room table where the food was laid out, the Avengers were gathered in a circle outside, surrounding a roaring fire in a low steel drum to commune with each other and with nature around them.

The ‘campfire’ was Peter’s idea, and as it was strongly seconded by no less than the birthday celebrator, the rest of the team followed suit, seating themselves around the fire with a bit of reluctance on the part of some more than others.

Tony, for one, seemed ill-at-ease in his own skin while seated between Rhodey and Vision in the circle. Steve could see the uneasiness writ clear on the genius-billionaire’s face all the way across from him, on the other side of that steel-drum fire. But Steve thought that he ought to count his victories no matter how small: the important thing was _Tony was there_.

Tony may have arrived late, but he’d come and, though night had fallen, _he was still there_. Steve’s heart felt so full if only because of that fact alone. For all he knew, Tony had been browbeaten by Rhodey, or Nat—or _anyone_ , to be there. But Steve didn’t care, what mattered to him was that his family was complete. Finally.

Steve tore his attention from Tony and angled his body to his left, where Bucky was seated and talking animatedly with Scott, who was seated next to him, further to the left. Steve felt the corners of his lips twitch into another small smile.

There really was nothing else Steve Rogers needed right now: his family was complete; Bucky was back by his side and was recovering from the HYDRA brainwashing nicely. In his long, often trying life, the Captain had never been happier than he was right at that very moment.

It didn’t matter that the man he was in love with let him down easy and was possibly in love with someone else; it didn’t matter that the friend he’s been wanting to reconcile with for the longest time was only there due to somebody else’s urging. _None of it mattered_ because he was _happy_ , regardless. Whoever said you had to have everything you could ever want first before you could truly be happy anyway?

“Look what I found!” Clint announced, returning to the circle after having gone back inside the house momentarily to fetch more drinks for their family huddle. On his right hand dangled a case refilled with ice cold beers and on his left was an acoustic guitar. “Huh… Perfect for some jamming around the campfire, right?” He brandished the instrument proudly as if it were a stake at the end of which contained the severed head of a mortal enemy. His gestures were welcomed by rousing cheers and approbation.

Passing in between Steve and Bucky, Clint relinquished the guitar to the former HYDRA asset, who hesitatingly accepted it, before slapping the case of beers on the ground in front of Natasha, who, for her part, took that as a signal to start popping caps and passing along newly-opened beer bottles to the others around the circle.

“Well go on, Buck—why don’t you play something and let’s see how awesome that arm is?” Sam, who was seated on Steve’s right, propped his arms on his knees and craned his neck to stare at Bucky.

The other people sitting around the campfire echoed the sentiment. Bucky looked towards Steve, wide eyed. Steve knew that Bucky played a bit. They, after all, spent many a night during missions of the Howling Commandos, passing the time by taking turns singing along with Gabe Jones’ battered acoustic guitar with either Gabe, himself, or Bucky playing it. But it _had_ been a while and a lot of things have changed since those days, and Steve could understand Bucky’s apprehension to hold a guitar again.

“It’ll be fine, Buck—go on,” encouraged Steve with a lop-sided grin. Across from him, Tony’s observant eyes fell on Bucky. The genius-billionaire was probably interested to see how the cybernetic arm would perform in an activity as delicate as instrument-playing. Judging by the animated neck-craning and cheering from everyone around the circle, Tony wasn’t the only one who was eager to see the arm in action.

“I haven’t held a guitar in over seventy-three years. I’m a _lot_ rusty,” Bucky mumbled by way of warning, but he started fiddling with the instrument propped against his torso. “And I only know _one_ modern song.” He lined up the fingers of his left hand against the chords and with his right started strumming a tune—

It was the intro to a _very_ familiar song.

“Oh I know that one,” Rhodey remarked with an enthusiastic clap and a nudge of a leg towards Tony’s direction. “That’s one of Tony’s favorite songs, isn’t that right, Tones? He knows that song inside and out—can sing the lyrics, a capella, in the middle of a damn blizzard with a gag over his mouth. _Every Breath You Take_ , right?”

So _that_ was why the melody seemed familiar…

It was the song that Tony sang over the PA system that subdued the Winter Soldier the last time he made an unplanned appearance. Steve could see the scene in his mind’s eye as if it were only yesterday—how Tony’s mellifluous singing reverberated through the thrashed BARF hall, how the Winter Soldier, as if magically-compelled, stopped struggling in Steve’s arms almost instantaneously upon hearing the singing, how Steve himself let the back of his head fall flat against the debris-covered floor, suddenly tired due to the emotionally-charged struggle with Bucky’s alter-ego, how he’d also let Tony’s voice wash over him, how he’d suddenly had the longing to ask for Tony’s forgiveness again for the nth time.

Rhodey regaled their circle with anecdotes about Tony and that song: how he’d once sung it during a friend’s wedding, drunk out of his ass; how he’d once sung it in a duet with Sting, the artist who’d popularized it, himself; and there were other stories as well.

Steve felt a lump form in his throat and he fidgeted where he sat. From being downcast, Steve’s eyes flicked towards Tony and watched the latter begin to chew his lower lip in a gesture that tried to hide his sudden discomfort.

Then, through the fingers of the fire and tufts of smoke rising from the steel drum where the fire was contained, Tony’s brown eyes squarely met Steve’s. And held them. Tony’s expression through the play of light and shadow was both meaningful and inscrutable at the same time. Those brown eyes held so much in their depths, but Steve could hardly fathom them.

“Why don’t you start the ball rolling by singing this one, Tony?” Steve discovered only too late that the request came from his own lips. The rest of their party followed in his footsteps by prompting Tony to take the reins for this one just to get their campfire karaoke started.

“—yeah—why don’t you sing, Tony?—”

“—sing for us, Stark—you know you want to—“

“—To-ny, To-ny, To-ny!—“

“You can’t afford my talent fee,” Tony said with a shake of his head and unmistakable gestures of abject refusal. “I’ll pass— _no_ , Rhodey…not even if _Sting_ himself were here to beg for me to sing…”

“Not even upon the request of the birthday boy complete with puppy-dog eyes and pretty please with cherry on top?” Peter piped up above the din of the others’ coaxing.

Everyone turned their heads towards Steve and waited for him to say something. Even Bucky looked at him momentarily before casting his eyes back to the guitar chords with an unreadable expression on his face. Steve squarely met Tony’s eyes again from the other side of the campfire. “It will really cap this birthday off as an extra special one, if you could sing the song for us, Tony,” Steve requested with a coy smile.

Tony’s face clouded over for a bit while the others maintained their persistent encouragement. “All right, all right, _all right_!” Tony finally remarked, raising a placating hand towards the very persuasive group. With a groan and an uncharacteristically self-conscious facepalm, Tony succumbed and psyched himself up to sing, but not before complaining, “can’t get a damn break around you people.”

Steve watched Tony catch Bucky’s eye since they were teaming up on the song and everything. Bucky met the look but, with a subtle bite to the lower lip, averted his eyes just as quickly as if trying to conceal something that he thought Tony would find obvious in the irises of his eyes. The former Sergeant saw it fit to focus on his strumming.

“ _Every breath you take, every move you make, every bond you break, every step you take, I'll be watching you,_ ” Tony began to sing not only to the accompaniment of the guitar but also along with tapping feet, snapping fingers and soft clapping of the others in their circle. He sang with a pure but powerful voice that cast a spell over everyone who could hear him. Unless the listener were heartless, soulless or completely evil, the combination of Bucky on guitar and Tony on vocals was certain to bring a feel-good smile on anyone’s visage.

Steve was fairly certain there was one on his, wide enough to break his face.

Pretty soon, the others were singing along with Tony, clinking beer bottles together in scattered toasts, and sharing fond laughter around.

“ _I’ll be watching you… I’ll be watching you… I’ll be watching you._ ” Steve was the first and the loudest to clap when the song ended. Bucky smiled his usual bashful and boyish smile at everyone while Tony did an over-the-top bow and wave to the handful of appreciative spectators.

“OK, OK, I think it’s time for some payback,” Tony remarked, motioning towards the Captain. “I say it’s the birthday celebrator’s turn to sing _his_ favorite song; how about it, Cap?”

This was likewise echoed with enthusiastic encouragement from the rest of the team.

Steve felt both mortified and disinclined to sing. He knew he was being unfair after having cajoled Tony into doing it, but he was really of the opinion that, unlike the genius-billionaire, singing was not part of his skill set. “I—I don’t know. Maybe that’s not such a good idea. None of you would know my favorite song anyway—you won’t be able to sing along with it; it’s a really, _really_ old one—“

“—oh _come on_ , Cap!—“

“—so what if it’s old? We’re all just having fun here—“

 “—sing, sing, sing, sing—“

“—we’re not going to judge, Captain—“

“—wouldn’t Barnes know it, though?” Tony asked, voice rumbling above the cacophony of cajoling from the others. “Wouldn’t _Barnes_ know what your favorite song is? He could play it…”

Steve didn’t know how to respond to that. Steve would like to think so—that Bucky knew what his favorite song was. But was his best friend still inclined to remember it or to find it _important enough_ to remember? Or maybe all that Bucky had time and attention for nowadays was to know and remember things about _Tony_?

Steve didn’t want to be petty. After all, he was the one who’d assured Bucky that the latter need not reciprocate his feelings—that whatever happened, they would remain friends. Steve couldn’t very well blame Bucky now if the man was attracted to someone else. He couldn’t exactly _force_ Bucky to reciprocate his affections or to feel for him what he obviously felt towards someone else. He could only keep being there for Bucky. No matter how much it was killing him inside.

No, Bucky was under no compunction to remember what Steve’s favorite song was. And Steve was hardly in a competition with _Tony_.

Steve shrugged, dismissive. “It was a long time ago, he probably wouldn’t—“

“— _The Way You Look Tonight_ ,” Bucky spoke up, staring tellingly at Steve. “Right?”

Steve felt a warm weight settle in his heart because Bucky remembered. “Right,” he murmured with a close-mouthed smile. “But I’d really rather not sing it. I—I can’t sing,” Steve looked towards the group with apology written on his face before taking a huge, uncomfortable gulp of his beer, which, though he couldn’t get drunk, he saw fit to have just for the sake of unity with the others.

There were _aaw_ -s of disappointment from the group but none tried to keep browbeating Steve into singing, so Barnes was only too relieved to relinquish the guitar to Scott.

Tony motioned for Scott to pass the guitar along and, propping the instrument against his torso, started strumming the guitar strings expertly to the opening salvo of a mellow song. Another familiar one. “That’s hardly an old song, you know, if I know it. Besides, it’s been covered by a lot of other artists through the years…”

Steve wasn’t the only one who was pleasantly surprised that the genius-billionaire could play. In fact, only Vision, Peter and Rhodey seemed nonplussed at Tony’s apparent musical prowess. Even Bucky, who, Steve would think, had made it his business to know everything there was to know about Tony, had his mouth hanging open in astonishment.

“ _Someday, when I'm awfully low, when the world is cold, I will feel a glow just thinking of you. And the way you look tonight,_ ” Tony started singing, momentarily looking up from the guitar towards the group to invite them to sing along with him. “ _Oh but you're lovely, with your smile so warm, and your cheeks so soft, there is nothing for me but to love you, just the way you look tonight._ ”

Steve’s palm tightened around the perspiring bottle of beer in his hand. He thanked all the divinities he believed in under his breath for he considered this as nothing short of an answered prayer. While this was hardly the forgiveness he’s been after, this was a giant leap towards the long-awaited healing, not only between him and Tony but also in the Avengers family.

Steve eventually found himself singing under his breath and joining the others in singing to the tune of his favorite song. With a subtle smile, he stole a glance at each and every person around that fire—at his family—and his heart swelled little by little, thankful for this. And for tonight.

He might not have everything he could ever want. But he had everything he needed. And that was more than an old man like him could ever hope for.

-0-0-0-

Steve jolted awake when he heard the bedroom door close. He turned in bed to see that the other side was empty. Bucky had left.

They’d called it a night after polishing off two more cases of beer. By then, the campfire was nothing more than spitting embers in the steel drum, and when the room assignments were dished out, he’d ended up sharing Cooper Barton’s bedroom with Bucky.

At first, Steve was uncertain, seriously considering switching with Sam, who’d been assigned to a guest bedroom with Scott and Stephen. He didn’t want Bucky to be uncomfortable, which he knew was bound to happen as this was the first time they were sharing a room after Steve had come clean to Bucky about his feelings.

The blonde’s trepidation must have been obvious on his face because Bucky had immediately confronted him and, with a stony face, insisted: “I know what you’re thinking, pal. And it’ll be fine. This is nothing we’re not used to doing anyway. Remember how after your Ma died, you stayed with us and we’d always huddle close together on winter nights whenever the damn heater broke down? This ain’t any different…”

So stay in the same room and kip on the one double bed, they did. Steve would be lying if he said it wasn’t uncomfortable because it _was_. He was uncomfortable because he knew that Bucky was uncomfortable. Bucky was probably going to deny it to the death, but Steve knew better. And now, the former HYDRA assassin’s decided to leave and skip sleeping entirely.

Steve, rubbing sleep from his eyes, got out of bed himself to check if Bucky was all right. It was also possible that the latter’d had a nightmare and was trying to fend off a panic attack by wearing a groove walking to and fro on the yard outside. After all, he didn’t have FRIDAY around to provide some footage of Tony singing to calm him down.

He was in the landing when voices emanated from the dining area, rising above the snoring sounds from the SHIELD people who’d decided to bed down in the living room for the night.

“—the kid’s an energetic sleeper—likes to move around a lot. He kicked me in the nuts once already, and since I like my nuts the way they are, and I can’t very well bunk with the girls or _Natasha_ ’ll have my nuts, and I don’t fancy spooning against _Fury_ on the living room couch either, I thought who needs a shut-eye anyway...” It was Tony’s voice. Steve didn’t need to see the genius-billionaire’s face to know that it featured an amusedly sarcastic expression. “What about you? Don’t tell me you can’t sleep because you got a kick in the nuts from whoever’s sharing the bed with you?” There was a scrape of a chair being moved.

The exchange was like an invitation to Steve to walk towards the glass-paneled double doors to the dining area, keeping to the shadows, however.

“No,” answered Bucky. “Stevie’s a pretty sedate sleeper. He falls asleep on his left side, he’d probably wake up in the same position. He hardly moves,” Bucky mumbled before offering, “we’re in Clint’s eldest’s bedroom. It’s pretty comfortable. If you want, since I probably won’t be sleeping for the rest of the night anymore, you can take the bed beside Stevie and I can assure you, you won’t even know he’s there.”

“That’s probably not a good idea,” Tony said, voice laced with doubt. “Thanks for the offer though. I’ll be leaving in a few anyway. I’ll just finish my tea,” continued the genius-billionaire. Sounds of tinkling china and soft slurping trickled from the dining area onto the darkened patch of floor where Steve was still standing, hidden in shadow and out of sight. “I would have left already while you guys were turning in for bed, but Laura’d caught me—looked at me all cross and said I should just spend the night because it’s too late to drive out and I’ve been drinking.

“So, you know, as soon as my blood alcohol content won’t be an issue anymore, I’m outta here—“

“You’re just gonna leave without saying goodbye?” Bucky asked in a gravelly voice that was only a couple of decibels above a whisper, but even the softness of his voice couldn’t mask the dismay in it.

“Well—I guess I’m saying goodbye to _you_ since you’re here and everything,” Tony dispassionately countered. “You can just tell them that I went ahead and I’ll see you all back at the compound.”

“Will _you_ , really?” Bucky practically growled in displeasure.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Will you see us when we’re all back in the compound or will you retreat into yourself, refusing to have anything to do with the other people living in the same space as you—not even for the occasional meal and, you know, just to let them know that you’re still alive,” Bucky remarked, sarcasm dripping from every syllable of his statement. Steve didn’t need to see Bucky’s face and body language to know that his best friend was pissed off.

Tony chortled with an edge to it. “You know, just because I accommodated you by being here— _like you asked me to_ —doesn’t mean we’re fucking friends, Barnes, all right?” The engineer hissed, scathingly. “You have no right to lecture me about _my life_. If I want to be a recluse, if I want to take a vow of _fucking silence_ , if I don’t want anything to do _with anyone_ —that’s _my fucking business_ and not yours.”

When Steve heard the confirmation to what had only been his suspicions earlier—that Tony attended only because he was strong-armed to be there, it hurt more than Steve thought it should. He’d told himself that it didn’t matter whatever or whoever was responsible for Tony being there because what mattered was that Tony was there. He was wrong because it _did_ matter. He’d let a small part of him hope that Tony was there _for_ him, because Tony was beginning to find it in his heart to give their friendship another chance. But he was wrong.

For the first time since he’d started this—this _vigil_ …this _waiting game_ until Tony would decide to throw him a bone, Steve was truly angry. He was angry at Tony for making him suffer by refusing to give him a chance to make up for his mistakes; he was angry at the circumstances they’d found themselves in; he was angry at _Bucky_ for being the one person Steve couldn’t bear to abandon so much so that he’d had to turn his back on Tony just to protect Bucky; but mostly he was just angry at himself for being his stubborn self—he was too stubborn then to compromise his principles _and_ he was too stubborn now to give up on his family without some kind of a fight.

And what had he to show for it?

Steve tore himself out of the shadows and strode up the stairs on mostly silent and nimble feet. He couldn’t bear to listen to the confrontation unfolding in the dining room anymore for a multitude of reasons.

But halfway to opening the door to Cooper’s room where he and Bucky had been sleeping, Steve froze in his tracks, remembering something.

_“Look, I know you’re trying, Steve… I’m trying, too.”_

Was he, though? Were they _really_ trying to make things right when, except for that first time they’d talked after Tony regained consciousness from his three-month-long coma, they haven’t even tried sitting down and just… _discussing_ things— _really_ hashing out where each of them went wrong. They’d preferred to sweep everything under the rug, avoiding the difficult questions or the contemptuous answers.

Steve thought that giving Tony a wide berth was the way to go about it because he also thought he was respecting Tony’s need for space. But that wasn’t the truth, was it? The truth was he didn’t want a confrontation with Tony. That was why he’d sent Tony that apology letter and that phone. Part of the reason why he’d chosen to go down that path was because it was too risky for him to set foot back on US soil, so a face-to-face apology was out of the question. But part of the reason, too, was the evasion. Because he didn’t think he could handle having to hear, see and feel how much he’d hurt the other man. That one time they did was one time too many.

And that was why they were still here—no better or no worse off than where they were nine months ago.

Which made Steve a goddamn _coward_ then.

Well—no more of this—this _cowardice_. He was done. It was time to sit Tony down and talk to him and if Tony ended up screaming at him, cursing him and hitting him, then so be it, but they were going to _talk_ and then maybe—just _maybe_ , after the storm, the skies would finally start clearing between them…

Steve turned on his heel and with the same silent but sprightly strides, he was storming back to the dining room to head Tony off from leaving in the dead of night. They needed to talk.

“We need to talk, Tony—“ Steve opened but the rest of his planned sentence died in his throat when, for one interminable moment, Steve’s world froze and the scene before him was of Bucky cupping Tony’s face in his hands and kissing him squarely in the mouth.

It was Tony who quickly reacted by pushing Bucky off and wrenching himself free from the other brunette’s hold. Tony’s face was a cross between aghast and confused as all-hell.

Bucky seemed to have felt Steve standing there, ogling at them. “Stevie…” Bucky, coming to terms with the fact that there was no way that Steve had not seen what just transpired just then, turned towards the blonde and, momentarily scrubbing a frustrated hand over his face, appeared both remorseful and frustrated; his body language was that of a caged tiger and, at the same time, a lamb bound for slaughter. “Stevie, I’m—“

Suspecting the one you love of being in love with another and seeing the absolute truth of it in three dimensional technicolor before you were two _completely_ different things. Steve thought he’d already sufficiently prepared himself for the pain, convinced himself that there were worse things so that it wouldn’t hurt so much, but he was just deluding himself.

Because this sure as hell felt like watching Bucky fall from the train all over again.

“OK, I don’t know _what the fuck_ is going on here,” Tony’s shrill voice suddenly tore through the tense pause. “But I sure as hell hope that what happened just now doesn’t mean what I think it means—”

“I’m sorry, Steve,” Bucky whispered, almost breathlessly, not paying Tony any mind for the time being because all his focus was on Steve. “I’m so sorry. I wanted it to be you—I _hoped_ it could be you. But it’s not.” Gray-blue eyes shone like glass in the stark light of the dining room.

Steve laughed softly, joylessly, shrugging. For a moment, he didn’t trust himself to speak, but eventually he did, “the heart wants what it wants.” His voice sounded like he was squeezing it through the pinhole that his throat had become.

“I believe Bucky has something to tell you,” Steve continued, turning towards Tony and boring his blue eyes into the latter’s brown ones. Wrestling with his own need to talk to Tony, Steve breathed deeply and moved to exit the dining room to leave the two to talk things out. He really didn’t need to be around to hear what Bucky had to say. His threshold for pain was only so high.

“Oh no… No, no, _no_ — _you_ do not walk out on this, Rogers. You are not walking away the martyr here. Whatever this _shit_ is between _you two_ , _I_ want no part in it. I don’t want anything to do with this _Jerry Springer bullshit_. Now, if you two don’t mind, _I’m_ leaving.” Tony turned towards Bucky, glowering, but didn’t say a word to him before thunderously striding out of the dining room and out of the house. His sudden departure, surrounded by an ominous cloud of anger, was punctuated by the careless slamming of the front doors. That got the SHIELD people bunked out in the living room groaning and muttering complaints.

“Aren’t you going after him?” Steve asked his friend.

“Not this time. It’s probably best if I give him space,” Bucky reasoned, raking his flesh hand through his already disheveled hair and palming his face with evident frustration. “I’m so sorry for lying to you, Stevie—“

“—lying to me—what are you talking about?”

“I told you I wasn’t ready—that I was too messed up in the head to give liking someone that much thought. But _I lied_. I like Tony—I… I think I might be in lo—“

“— _I know_ , Buck. I know you are—I’ve had my suspicions for a while now,” confessed Steve, cutting Bucky off from saying it unequivocally. He really, _really_ didn’t need it spelled out for him. His pride couldn’t suffer any more trampling. “But you’ve nothing to apologize for—“

“—it should have been _you_. _Why_ couldn’t it have been you?” Bucky asked no one in particular again, the frustration in his voice escalating if that was even possible.

“We love who we love, Buck. We can’t just…choose,” murmured Steve, fighting the roiling of his insides. “You should go after him—talk to him. Tony is… He’s not good with space.” If Bucky gave Tony space, Bucky would probably never see hide nor hair of the engineer again. Steve knew Tony’s M.O. all too well.

“I know,” Bucky admitted with a sad smile. “ _You_ said you needed to talk to him, too. How about if I let you have this one?” Bucky slumped on a dining room chair and hunched in on himself, dejected. “I don’t think I can really face him right now after practically assaulting him.”

It broke Steve’s heart again to have to see Bucky like this.

He badly needed to talk to Tony. Now more than ever. Not only for the purpose of clearing the air between them once and for all, but to intercede in Bucky’s behalf. This was Steve in his most masochistic. But he truly, genuinely wanted Bucky to be happy. And if Bucky’s happiness was in Tony’s hands, then, as Bucky’s friend, he felt duty-bound to make Tony understand just what kind of power was now in the genius-billionaire’s hands.

Without waiting for any more push from Bucky, Steve turned on his heel and, feet pounding on the wooden floorboards and then on grassy ground, ran to catch Tony up.

Steve caught up with the genius-billionaire’s car just as it was forced to slow down to make a tight turn from the Barton property line on to the dirt road that would lead to the nearest interstate highway. With a burst of speed, he sprinted to make it before the nose of the car, palms thumping against the hood. The car’s brakes screeched, but thankfully, it stopped. He was only just beginning to breathe heavily despite the head start that Tony had on him.

“Tony! Tony, we need to talk, please…” Steve resolutely stood with his arms in a placating gesture, right in the way of the vehicle’s escape. “Please, just step out of the car and talk to me. Tony—please…” He could barely make out the outline of Tony’s form through the tinted windshield and the harsh glare of the headlights shining in Steve’s eyes.

“Get out of the way, Cap, or I’m gonna run you over,” threatened Tony, sliding the driver’s side window a smidge. “Don’t think for one second that I will hesitate plowing you down because I won’t.”

“You’re going to have to run me over then, because I’m not stepping out of your way until we’ve talked,” Steve countered, planting his feet firmly where he was to stand his ground in more ways than one.

Tony angrily got out of the idling car then, slamming the door shut behind him and standing up before Steve, in front of the car, with the headlights illuminating both the blonde’s desperate face and the brunette’s annoyed one. “Fine, you wanna talk to me? _Fine!_ Fucking talk to me then!” Tony, in a stance resembling that of a caged lion, stood in front of Steve with his arms haughtily crossed over his chest.

“I know you still hate me. I know that you _loathe_ having to talk to me, associate with me or even _look_ at me. And because of that, there’s this… _tension_ at home that, even after nine months, is still there and it’s not letting up. I can’t blame you because _I fucked up_ ,” Steve declared, brazenly. “I fucked up, all right? I’m sorry but that’s just the person that I am and as the flawed sonofabitch that I am, I made the decisions that I did.

“You’re _right_ —I should have trusted you; we should have dealt with things together; I should have told you about your parents; I should have apologized personally instead of a FedEx-ed letter… _You’re right, Tony._ Isn’t that what you want to hear from me? For me to tell you that I’m wrong and you’re right? Well, I’m throwing it all out there then. I’m getting it out of my system—this is me, getting this out of my system. And so should you, Tony. Yell at my face, hit me if you want, I can take it—if that’s what it takes for you to air your anger out, if that’s what it takes for you to just… _talk_ to me, if that’s what you need so we can finally get to fixing what’s broke instead of tiptoeing around each other, then by all means, do what you need to do. _Do what you need to do_ instead of fucking holding it all in and keeping all of us out!” Steve roared, throwing his arms around in frustration.

“Because I’m done, Tony. _I’m done_. I’m done giving you space and waiting, passively, for you to find it in your heart to forgive me. So if you have to do your worst for your anger to be spent, then have at it,” Steve directed, splaying his arms out as if offering himself to be Tony’s human punching bag. “Because I want my friend back; I _need_ my friend back. So badly. I miss him. I miss bantering with him. I miss being taken down a peg because he refuses to take shit from me. I miss hearing him talk my ear off with technology and pop culture references… I miss him. I miss _you_ , Tony. So go ahead…” Steve stepped closer to Tony and closed his eyes to brace himself for what he thought was the incoming onslaught of punches.

“I’m not hitting you, Cap,” Tony quietly and calmly said, stepping away from Steve with every intention to return to the car and probably wait out the battle of wills. Steve was going to have to get out of the car’s way eventually.

But Steve caught Tony’s forearm. “Then what do I have to do, Tony? _Tell me_. Tell me what I have to do to get that chance to earn your friendship back.” The time for walking on eggshells and skirting around their problems was long past. But Steve prepared himself. If Tony asked him to leave the Avengers compound, would he do it in the name of earning Tony’s forgiveness?

Tony took a deep breath, appearing tired all of a sudden. He wrenched his arm free from Steve’s grasp, nevertheless, angling his body to face the blonde. “Why did you _really_ return to the compound, Steve? Did you really come back here to fix things with the Avengers—with _me_ , or did you come back because you wanted to get help for _Barnes_ , knowing that I’d readily help you if we were friends again?”

Without hesitation and knowing it was the God’s honest truth, Steve answered: “I came back for _you_ , Tony. Not for any ulterior motive or any hidden agenda. I came back because I’d heard that you were in a coma and I got scared. I was afraid that I was too late, that I couldn’t earn your friendship back anymore. I wanted to be here if only to lend you what strength of will remained in me to get you to wake up. I _needed_ you to wake up, Tony. Because I needed you to know how much I wish things could’ve been different between us.

“And when you woke up, I asked to stay because I was eager to grab the chance to do what I almost missed out on doing. I almost lost you, Tony. And I told myself, I won’t let that happen again. I told myself I was going to do whatever it took, endure whatever I could to earn back your friendship, so we could get back to how things used to be before,” explained Steve, all the while trying to catch Tony’s gaze to no avail because the latter kept his eyes downcast.

“But it was always in the cards to fix Barnes, right? Because you’re in love with him, _right_?” Tony finally met his eyes.

Steve gave a start in shock. How could Tony have known about the secret that Steve had carried and nurtured for over eighty long years? Well, it didn’t matter how Tony knew. Tony was asking for some honesty here, and Steve owed it to him. “Yes. Yes, I’m in love with Bucky. But Bucky is not the reason why I came back.”

Something undecidedly alien and unreadable flashed in the luminous amber of Tony’s eyes. “Does he love you back?”

“No, he, uh—if you must know, he’s in love with someone else,” Steve stated, practically tweezing the words out through his teeth. “He’s in love with _you_ , Tony.”

Tony was quite accurate in his assessment in that this was some Jerry Springer bullshit, all right.

“Yeah I kinda suspected that when he’d shoved his tongue in my mouth without preamble,” spat the brunette, half-sitting on the hood of his still-idling car. His face became stony. “And is that just—“ he paused, rolling his shoulders and cringing, “— _all right_ with you, is it? That your Bucky likes someone else?”

“I just want what makes Bucky happy… If you are what makes Bucky happy, I can deal with that,” opened Steve, seizing what was probably this rare opportunity to talk to Tony about Bucky. “He’s on unsteady ground right now. You, of all people, know how precarious Bucky’s current mental health is. His self-image is shot; his moods are volatile. But despite his being broken, he’s let you in, he’s chosen to trust you and I don’t know if you realize it, but you have such _power_ over him now. You can make or break him—“

“—you’re not seriously asking me what I think you’re asking me, are you, Cap?—“

“—you ground him. If you want to, you can really help him recover. If being with you can—“

“ _No_ ,” Tony said with such bold-faced conviction that there was no way for Steve to misunderstand it. “While the whole idea of a _threesome_ appeals to my base urges, even _I_ think this is _twisted_ and _delusional_ and _deranged_ , and I want no fucking part in it. I’m not going to help stroke your masochistic ego by giving your beloved Bucky the time of day just ‘cause _he’s_ in love with me for the purpose of— _what_ —keeping the house of cards that is his precarious mental state from tumbling down, no! I don’t want _nothing_ to do with your shit because I got _my own shit_ to deal with, Cap, all right?” Tony stated, lips curling in distaste.

“I don’t think you quite realize how much you mean to Bucky, what it means for him to allow himself to feel such strong emotions for you.” Steve began, to which Tony only laughed humorlessly and disbelievingly. “If you have any residual anger towards me because I chose to defend Bucky in Siberia just…please—don’t take it out on—“

At this Tony actually cackled, but it sounded hollow and hostile to Steve. “Oh you wanna talk about _Siberia_ right now, too, do you?! This just keeps getting better and better—O-K, let’s talk about Siberia… You kept the information of how my parents died from me; I trusted you to always do the right thing—you knew all along but kept it from me to protect your _beloved_ ’s hide; when I reacted as any normal bereaved son would, you nearly killed me; and as if I wouldn’t feel betrayed enough, you walked out on me. And now here you stand, bold as brass, telling me to keep my _residual anger_ from hurting your beloved Bucky,” scoffed Tony. It was the most that Tony had ever said to him in almost a year. This was also the first time they had ever really talked about what had gone down in Siberia. For Steve, this was progress. Steve was seeing the extent of Tony’s anger for the first time. The brunette was brimming with pent-up emotions that his eyes shone in the play of light and dust-motes from the car’s headlights.

“I guess you can also blame my _residual anger_ for talking to T’Challa to get your _Bae_ shipped out to the compound so you can be with him. Reconfiguring the BARF, organizing a team to reverse engineer the Winter Soldier, and building Barnes a new _fucking_ arm are, no doubt, attributable to my _residual anger_ , too, correct?!

“You know what—if you’re done, then so am I. We are _fucking done here_ , Rogers,” Tony remarked, his face hard and his voice gravelly with pent-up emotions that Steve couldn’t even begin to make sense of. Tony got off from leaning on his car’s hood to return to the driver’s seat without another word.

Before he could open the car door to try for another escape attempt, however, he spoke again. “For the record, I never wanted you to admit that I was right and you were wrong. I just—“ Tony hesitated, anger spent. And all that his body language depicted were weariness and resignation.

Worrying his lower lip, Tony continued, “you wasted your time going back here. Because as I see it, _how things used to be_ —we’re _never_ getting that back. Everything’s changed now. There’s no going back—“

“I don’t believe that—not one bit,” Steve stubbornly denied with a humorless laugh of his own. “Why did you let me stay then? Why did you return my shield? Why did you help Bucky? Why are you _still helping_ Bucky if our friendship is so beyond hope? Why _did_ you do all of those things, Tony?”

Tony yanked the car door open, but Steve was quicker. He was beside the brunette again, obstructing the full swing of the door.

“Just let this go, Steve. The answer to that is something neither of us is prepared for,” Tony quietly advised, adamantly refusing to meet Steve’s gaze, too.

“Well, I’m not letting you walk away without an answer.”

Tony squeezed his eyes shut, inhaled then exhaled, before facing Steve, determined. “It’s a crying shame, isn’t it—to do everything you can to make someone happy while watching them do everything _they can_ for the happiness of somebody else?”

Before Steve could really contemplate what Tony could possibly mean by his cryptic rhetorical question, Tony was surging forward and meeting Steve’s lips in an impassioned kiss.


	22. 22. TONY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Tony continue The Talk (c) and Tony, unable to keep from yearning for his husband, decides to take a trip down memory lane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uploading in a rush before I leave the office. I just literally finished typing this. No proof-reading at all. So this is probably chock full of errors. Just a warning. I will get to proofreading when I get home. And with more decent chapter notes to go along with it, too!
> 
> Love ya all! And this is how much I love you!
> 
> Spread the FRIDAY love around! Comments and Kudos, okies?
> 
> Will check back in later with more lucid notes...
> 
> UPDATE: Read this through once and corrected the errors I was able to spot, so yeah, if you see any more, please let me know! Excited to hear more of your thoughts then.
> 
> ENJOY my dearests!  
> \---

****“You asked me why I did all of those things... That’s why,” Tony quietly murmured, close against Steve’s lips before stepping away and trying for the car door again. Steve looked stunned out of his mind, blinking owlishly with his mouth half-open.

For his part, Tony wanted to brain himself against his sports car’s windshield when it slowly dawned on his genius brain what it was he’d just done. He had kissed Steve Rogers! He had just _fucking_ kissed Steve _fucking_ Rogers! What the _ever-loving fuck_ was he thinking?!

It was just that Cap looked so determined that his blue eyes blazed in the glare of the headlights; his jaw was tightly clenched in that oh-so familiar way that, Tony didn’t want to admit, he had missed so and had made him want to slide his finger down that alabaster cheek; his strongly set lips that simply drew Tony in for a quick taste before he could realize what he was doing.

He’s never come to terms with the _why_ he missed Steve—his _husband_ , _that_ Steve—when he was still hell-bent on thinking that none of it had been real. Tony just did; he missed Steve so fucking much that he couldn’t put a lid on the yearning anymore and he just had to completely lose it in front of Steve— _another version_ of his Steve—and kiss the bastard.

If Tony had thought he could easily give the Captain the slip while the latter was still gathering his wits about him, he thought wrong because Steve was pushing the car door shut just when Tony had gotten it open a crack. Not even his pinkie could have made it inside the damn car.

“You’re not leaving after—after… _that_ ,” Steve stuttered, looking about as disconcerted as a kitten thrown in a bucket of ice water. “What was _that_ all about, Tony? Did you just…kiss— _why did you kiss me_?!” He looked weak-kneed and actually planted his bum against the car door for support.

Tony knew that it was only a matter of time before they were having this excruciating conversation. Steve Rogers was anything but an idiot after all, and the Avengers were known to be worse than gossip-mongering fishwives on occasion. He had, of course, confirmed to Rhodey his memory issues, and if Rhodey’d gotten to Strange somehow at any time after Tony’s birthday, and the sorcerer had hinted to Rhodey about Tony’s condition in that cryptic-mystical-jargon-shit, and _Natasha_ had been somehow involved in the mix—which Tony was dead certain she definitely was—then on a scale of one to know-it-all Albert Einstein levels, chances were, Steve already knew about what Tony had really gotten up to during his three-month sleep.

And Tony knew that the _‘it felt like a good idea at the time’_ excuse was not going to fly with Cap.

“Because I have memories,” Tony began, averting his gaze to attempt to stare holes into the ground at his feet. “Of you.

“When I was in that coma, my consciousness was accidentally sent to another dimension by Strange. I spent three months there. I have the memories from another time and place as keepsake of the experience spent in that other world—that other dimension—where I had everything I could ever wish for, where it was _me_ you’d chosen and not Barnes.”

“Tony—“

“This is all on me, Steve,” Tony curtly interrupted, clenching a hand around the car door handle anew because he needed something to do with his hands or he was likely to throw a punch in frustration. “This…is actually not your fault this time. And there’s really nothing you can do about it. I’m the delusional turd who can’t dissociate _that_ Steve from you—from _this_ Steve,” he continued, gesturing towards Steve’s person with a nod. “Just let me handle this. This isn’t your problem—“

“The hell it isn’t,” growled Steve under his breath, almost inaudibly. “You just _kissed me_ , Tony!”

Steve really was the indisputable _King of Stating the Obvious_ , wasn’t he? Tony’s lips curled; whether it was because of the blonde’s reaction or self-disgust, he couldn’t be certain.

“Maybe—maybe _Stephen_ can help,” Steve suggested after a beat when Tony preferred to be uncharacteristically quiet than be explosively hyper-verbal about the whole thing. The genius was just too busy thinking about Steve’s knee-jerk reaction to dive headfirst into what he had just been categorically told was not his fucking problem. “He’d assured me that your memory condition was nothing serious—“

“And _it isn’t_!” Tony interrupted again, yelling. Prying his hands off the car door handle and, with utter frustration, kneading his face with his palms before propping his hands on his hips, he forged ahead, “look—Strange already knows what happened. At first, I wanted him to remove the memories even at great risk to my brain functions—to my mind. I didn’t care. I wanted them gone. But I…couldn’t…” The brunette trailed off, stealing a glance at the other man.

Steve chose not to press for more details that time. That time, he chose to be quiet. He chose to wait for Tony to tell him that other-world circumstances himself.

Tony _wanted_ to tell him, too. Not that he was hoping that it’d change anything between them, but that he just wanted the weight of it off his chest. Perhaps if Steve knew about it and could do Tony the service of reacting in an asshole-y way that would convince the latter that this Steve was _nothing_ like his husband, so that he could stop feeling morose and disappointed for what he’d had and what he _could’ve_ had, then that’d be _absolutely fantastic_ …

“It was everything I’d ever wanted my life to be,” recounted Tony, swallowing the painful bile that had threatened to choke him into avoidant silence. “I was happy. Like… _really_ happy, and content with my life. My mom was alive; my friends were all friends with each other, and they believed in me. I wasn’t such a fuck-up. And I was married to the greatest, kindest, most loving man there was.” At this, Tony stole another surreptitious glance at Steve to watch from out of the corner of his eye for those boyish good looks to crumble into horror at what Tony was implying.

“Were you…were _we_ married?” Steve asked, hesitant.

“Yeah,” sighed Tony, stuffing his hands in the front pockets of his trousers. “ _A version of Steve Rogers_ and I were,” emphasized the genius-billionaire. He honestly didn’t want Steve to feel like a deer in headlights, like Steve _owed_ Tony somehow because they were supposed to be married to each other in another world. Because this Steve didn’t owe him shit; this Steve didn’t have to do shit. This was Tony’s problem to overcome.

“S—so what happened?” Steve asked, seemingly battling with himself whether to stay where he was to or to step closer to Tony to bridge the distance between them. “Did something happen—something similar to what took you there in the first place—that got your consciousness out of that world and back here again?”

Tony remembered that Steve knew about the attack of the intergalactic herd of deer the size of trailer trucks. The Captain had been there when Tony woke up from the coma and Strange started to interrogate him regarding what he could and couldn’t remember about the circumstances surrounding his unfortunate accident.

The genius-billionaire suspected that Steve thought it was something _involuntary_ that had taken him away from his perfect world. Because if it were as perfect as he’d said it was, then no one in their right mind would have elected to leave such a place in order to return to this shitfest they have here.

The soundness of Tony’s mind had always been questionable. After all, there was a very fine line between madness and genius.

He must have really been barking mad: to choose to leave his husband, his friends and _his mother_ behind to return to this world where his so-called family was sticking together only due to a wary truce, where his every move was subject to scrutiny because he couldn’t seem to do anything right, where he was more disposed to be distrustful—of himself and of others because he was afraid of repeating the mistakes of the past; and to choose to keep the memories of the beautiful life he had stupidly elected to leave behind, besides!

“No. No, I—uh—I chose to go back,” Tony answered, restraining himself from sobbing. He really was a stupid sonofabitch, wasn’t he—to have _chosen_ to turn his back to everything he had always wanted. And for what? “I’d’ve stayed if I could,” clarified Tony with a gesture. “But it wasn’t my life to live. Just because I’m miserable doesn’t mean that every Tony in every universe should be as miserable as I am. I didn’t want to deny that universe’s Tony a chance to be happy.”

“Tony—“ Cap began again, the corners of his eyes creasing in unmistakable sympathy. No doubt Steve had an endless font of compassionate and encouraging words to offer Tony to try to boost his morale, make him forget about his misery, assure him that every cloud had a silver lining, offer his help to bear this burden or some such drivel. But Tony was having none of it.

The genius-billionaire interrupted Steve for the nth time in their explosive discussion that just about outdid the Fourth of July fireworks they’d watched earlier. “This isn’t your fight, Cap, all right? You. Don’t. Have. To do. Shit,” enunciated Tony as clearly as his shaky voice could manage. “This is _my_ problem. And I’m working on it. So—excuse me—if I don’t want nothing to do with the drama that is yours and Barnes’ complicated soap opera of a love story. But as I said, I’ve got my own goddamn _shit_ to deal with.”

Steve crossed his arms over his expansive chest, cocking his head at an angle. There was a dubious expression on his hard-set face. “ _How_? How _are_ you dealing with this, exactly?” He asked, challenge writ clear in his tone.

Tony scoffed, a bitter smirk on his lips. He tried for the car door handle again and was met with no resistance from Steve this time when he swung the door open all the way. Pausing on the gap between the car and the open door with his hand on the wheel and a foot inside the car already, he forcefully exhaled through the nose in a mix of resignation and resoluteness and said: “Isn’t there this age-old drivel about love being a _choice_ or something to that effect? If it is, it was my choice to fall in love with Steve Rogers… And so it’ll be my choice to fall _out of love_ for him, too.”

The genius slid inside the vehicle without waiting for the Captain to be able to process the implications of exactly what he’d said and, pulling the door shut, engaged the car into drive before speeding away without even a backward glance through the rear view mirror at the motionless figure of the blonde man he’d left behind.

-0-0-0-

True to form, Tony Stark didn’t set foot back in the Avengers compound for the next week after the Captain’s birthday. He could only surmise what the others started to feel because of this current avoidance tactic. Tony was ready to bet his billions that _Rhodey_ _and Natasha_ probably thought it had something to do with the bubbling unrest regarding the Sokovia Accords again in Washington DC; _Barnes_ probably thought Tony was trying to avoid him because of the unwanted advances through the kiss-slash-assault on Tony’s person that happened in Clint’s house’s dining room; _Rogers_ probably thought Tony was avoiding _him_ because of the explosive confrontation in the middle of godfucking nowhere as the genius was trying to hightail out of the Barton property after the Barnes-initiated kiss-slash-assault on Tony’s person; _Peter and the rest of the Avengers_ probably didn’t even know that he hasn’t been around because Tony had always been a recluse, known to disappear and be a no-show for weeks or _months_ at a time.

Tony had been relatively calm, living in the penthouse of Stark Tower for a week and gorging on tubs of Ben&Jerry’s while building project after project on his supposed off-hours. Mostly, Pepper kept him busy signing stuff and attending meetings during the day.

He was surprisingly cooperative, and if Pepper noticed the oddity in that, she didn’t say anything. She must know Tony well enough by now to realize that when he was willing to _attend meetings_ , then something was up. But she wasn’t going to find anything out if she pressed him to spill. Tony, in addition to being a notorious recluse, clammed up like nobody’s business when he was going through something.

Yeah, if Pepper wanted to know what crawled up Tony’s ass and partied there, she was going to have to wait a while because even Tony himself was hard-pressed to even begin to explain the sordid situation unfolding in the Avengers compound under the noses of the Earth’s supposed Mightiest Heroes.

Tony made use of the borrowed time he had by designing another cybernetic arm for Barnes—one that was leaps and bounds ahead of the prototype, improving on all the glitches that FRIDAY had noted during the numerous adjustment sessions. It was sleeker, more light-weight, more hardy, more user-friendly, less likely to have glitches and, more importantly, less in need of constant upkeep and adjustments.

Which meant that Tony wouldn’t have to see Barnes so often. Or _ever_ , really. He was _that_ confident in the quality of his new creation.

In between being a good boy for Pepper and engineering new projects, Tony also used his quiet-time week to acquaint himself with what really was happening with the new series of protests regarding the amended Sokovia Accords.

Tony knew for a fact that former Secretary Ross and his battery of hidden minions were still working in the background to try to rock the precarious boat that was the ratification of the new Accords as amended. The anti-amended Accords, for the most part, preferred the court of public opinion to air their discontent regarding the involvement of business tycoon Tony Stark, with the help of a handful of sovereigns and unlikely allies in the international political scene, in overhauling the Accords.

The thing was if it had been relatively quick to turn the tides in favor of amending the Sokovia Accords, then it was just a matter of finding the right mix of people and circumstances to just as easily turn the tides against it again.

So Tony wanted to always be two steps ahead of former Secretary Ross when putting his finger on the pulse of the international arena on the matter of the amended Accords. The intelligence-gathering team of the Avengers was always on the lookout for Ross; the latter had a corner of the command center display monitor dedicated to him and his activities alone in case he got creative with how to turn the tables back in his favor—like customizing a large-scale threat in the same vein as AIM and Killian just to jolt the world back into thinking that it had been a bad idea to amend the Sokovia Accords in the first place.

Though Tony knew he could always count on the help of the Wakandan King, T’Challa, and his own formidable army of lawyers to keep the current status quo, the genius-billionaire wanted to stay on top of things anyway.

One little stone could very well cause an impactful ripple on the precarious surface of the stream that was the Avengers team right now. Tony would really rather not add to the ever-growing list of _Reasons Why Tony Stark’s Life Is The Shittiest._

But after one week of quiet-time, Tony began to find even the Stark Tower penthouse stifling. It was stifling because of recollections of events that didn’t happen and people that didn’t exist.

He’d lived here for three months with his friends and his husband, but the place had been called _Avengers Tower_. There had been no need to relocate to the Avengers Facility after the Ultron attack because Tony had never created Ultron in that other life. So they’d stayed in the Tower and the best three months of his life had been spent here—well—not _here_ , here, but this Tower in another life—in a dream life.

So, his borrowed time that once afforded him peace started to feel like torture eventually, so he mumbled explanations to Pepper over the phone and jumped back into his sports car bound for the Avengers compound after exactly seven days since Steve’s birthday, with his heart heavy with dread and his cramped backseat cluttered with Barnes’ new cybernetic arm.

He wasn’t planning on giving Barnes the arm immediately. He hoped Barnes was just as elusive as he was about the idea of discussing what had happened between them on the evening of Steve’s birthday. Then maybe he could buy himself more time to fix the BARF hardware that had suffered a beating during the Winter Soldier attack so that Tony would be able to distract Barnes completely from having to talk about that night. If Barnes was already occupied with the BARF and his treatment which Tony had never been around for anyway and there was no more need for arm adjustments, Tony might just be able to avoid any awkward confrontations with the former Sergeant about _feelings_. Tony would have to play his cards right, though.

It was close to one in the morning when the genius-billionaire crept back into the Avengers compound with profuse instructions to FRIDAY not to volunteer the information that he has returned to anyone, in case there had been any standing commands from the others for an immediate alert once Tony was back. He was going to stretch out his quiet-time, his Barnes-free and Cap-free time, for as long as he could.

He only deposited the cybernetic arm 2.0 in his subterranean workshop and got his precision toolkit and soldering iron before sneaking back out again to head to the medical building to get cracking on the damaged BARF hardware immediately. He had a plan and he was going to stick to it.

The medical building was silent as the grave when Tony’d let himself in and had FRIDAY electronically barricade the door to the BARF hall. The hall was spic-and-span; the contractors did a bang-up job making sure there were no remnants whatsoever of the fight between Captain America and the Winter Soldier that thrashed the BARF hall.

Tony pulled his sleeves higher up his arms to get to work. Fixing the BARF external hardware was actually the easy part with his precision tools and his soldering kit. It was making sure that the hardware corresponded to the function it was supposed to do as mapped out by the coding that was more tedious and time-consuming work. He was prepared to work the entire night as well as the entire day the next day if need be to get the BARF sorted.

Once the BARF was operational again, Barnes and Steve would be too occupied with the sessions to seek Tony out for any awkward talking. He was done with awkward talking and people bulldozing their way into his personal space and people looking at him all apologetic and sympathetic and sad…

Before he could be any more embroiled in thoughts of the sordid but laughable three-way predicament that he, Barnes and Cap were all in, Tony immersed himself in work and slipped into one of his engineering zones. It was past three o’clock when he was done and satisfied with the external equipment repair. It was time to start going through the coding to check its integrity and correspondence with the external hardware.

It was while he was red-eyed and neck deep in BARF coding that a particular line of code popped out to him like it had been underscored and lit in flashing neon lights. It was the code pertinent to what kind of memory the BARF was supposed to zero in on. Tony’s creation, as he had relayed to Barnes, was supposed to focus on snippets or images that registered the highest releases of norepinephrine in the subject. Those were the _‘traumatic’_ memories. He had designed this machine to focus on what made the subject most agitated or disturbed or afraid.

If he tested the BARF himself right now, it would probably show him the first time his father had hit him, the day his parents left and never came back, the day that Jarvis died, Afghanistan, the palladium poisoning, the attack at the Expo, the wormhole, Happy in a coma due to the explosion in the Chinese Theater, the bombing of his Malibu house, being zip-tied to the bed in the Mandarin’s Florida mansion and helplessly seeing Pepper injected with Extremis, Pepper’s fall on the Roxxon ship, his shrapnel-removal operation, Rhodey’s free fall in that airport, Siberia…

But he didn’t want to see these things. Not right now. There was something else he’d been wanting to see—he’d been _longing_ to see. And if he tweaked the BARF’s code temporarily to focus on some other memories instead of the bad ones, Tony would see _him_ again…

His eager fingers were already flying over the keys on the computer keyboard before his brain had come to terms with his decision.

When he was satisfied that he’d been able to input the correct coding to suit his objective, he powered-up the BARF, slipping on the temple tips behind his ears and standing before the pristine blue panels that seemed like they had never been broken.

“Initialize, FRIDAY,” commanded Tony, his voice strongly resonating around the deserted BARF hall. The overhead lights dimmed while the temple arm projectors on both sides of Tony’s head lit up.

This time, instead of the usual horrible memories, the scenes that flashed like a disjointed movie on fast forward upon the BARF’s initialization were the happiest that Tony’s ever been: his fifth birthday when his mother had gifted him with a Build-Your-Own-Model-Car set; when he and Jarvis visited a planetarium; when Jarvis had first tried teaching him about the mechanics of real cars when he was six; when fifteen-year-old Adrienne Brent-Morgan from the neighboring boarding school for girls kissed him on the lips when he was just eleven as reward for having fixed her then state-of the-art IBM personal computer like the tech genius that he was already supposed to be; when he and Pepper kissed for the first time on the roof overlooking the burning Stark Expo; when they defeated the Chitauri; when Bruce was the first of the team to move in to the Stark-cum-Avengers Tower. Until the fast-flashing scenes finally slowed and stopped on one:

_Tony looked at Steve, unamused while the latter battled to restrain a wide grin from fully blossoming on his face. Clutched in his meaty hands was a huge kite made of gaudily-colored Japanese and crepe paper and light-weight, high tensile wire. Tied to the kite’s bow was a string, the other end of which was in Tony’s hands, in a wooden spool._

_It was Steve’s brilliant idea to go to Central Park to launch the kite that the two of them had made as a sort of spontaneous project as Tony steadily warmed up to Steve, albeit his memories were still out of whack. To Tony, the fact that he still didn’t have his memories of the past two years or so was inconsequential._

_That didn’t stop him from finding a new appreciation for his teammates. And his husband._

_His_ husband _. Tony was still continuously trying to wrap his head around that fact, but it was becoming easier and easier to do with every passing day._

_“You don’t need three doctorates from MIT to be able to launch one of these in the sky, you know,” teased Steve. “Explain to me how you can build sentient home appliances and bleeding edge mechanical armor that shoots rockets out of your armpits and you can’t fly a kite.”_

_Tony sulked and, pouting, replied: “this isn’t exactly one of my and Howard’s father-son bonding activities, you know. I’ve never…exactly…done this before.” Tony cringed at that. It bloody hurt to have to admit that he was a grown-ass man who has three doctorates and has been piloting a flying armor for years now but had never flown a_ fucking _kite before._

 _Steve’s expression darkened for a while at the reminder that Tony’s childhood was not exactly a happy one. It was good to know/not good to know that Tony’s memory was not defective when it came to his dysfunctional childhood. At least, he got_ that _right._

_“Well, there’s always a first time for everything, honey,” Steve countered with a soft smile. He didn’t seem to realize the endearment that had slipped out from his lips._

_Tony realized it, though, and, to his utmost embarrassment, he blushed. It had been a long time since Steve tried calling him that in fear that it would annoy Tony like the early days since waking up from his AIM accident. But Steve was not overly self-conscious about throwing his terms of endearment around this time. And Tony was anything but annoyed if his warm cheeks were anything to go by. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d blushed._

_So they laughed and ran. Ran and laughed. Bantered and cooperated. Cooperated and bantered. Until they finally got that blasted kite soaring in the skies over Central Park. And in their happiness, they embraced and praised each other’s efforts._

_“You did it! Good job,” Steve congratulated, enveloping Tony in a protective and affectionate hug and whispering against the shell of the brunette’s ear. Tony hugged back with one hand while the other still grappled with the kite spool to keep the kite aloft. “I love you,” Steve continued out of habit. But, realizing what he’d said, stepped away and scratched at the back of his head awkwardly. “I’m—I’m sorry. I didn’t—“_

_“It’s OK,” Tony reassured with a lop-sided smile. “It’s fine, Steve.” It was. Because the truth was he was kind of, sort of in love with Steve, too. And he’d only just realized._

That day was nothing special, really. It was even kind of humid and irritatingly blustery then. But this was his best memory of Steve. The best memory in his life, even. If Tony Stark were to battle a Dementor like a BARF session straight outta Wizarding World hell, this kite-flying moment would be his Patronus-producing happy memory.

It was the moment he had realized he was in love with his husband, with Steve Rogers.

Maybe it was Steve’s patience, his kindness, his determination to enchant Tony’s heart since the latter’s mind had stubbornly refused to yield those precious memories back... It didn’t really matter to Tony what did it for him. The ultimate takeaway was that he had fallen, and fallen hard for the man.

And now he was gone; Tony was alone.

Well, Steve wasn’t really gone because Steve was still around. But Tony’s Steve was, for all intents and purposes, gone. And it was all Tony’s fault. Why did he have to be all altruistic hero and give up his own happiness for the happiness of another—who was, incidentally, just another version of him? He was _Tony Stark_ , too, wasn’t he? Did he not deserve happiness just the same?

After that, more snippets of his life with Steve in the other dimension flashed on the panels:

_Cooking breakfast with Steve…_

_Watching a movie with his feet propped on Steve’s lap…_

_Getting carried to bed from the workshop by Steve…_

_Going on an impromptu picnic with Steve…_

_Kissing Steve…_

_Steve lips left a hot trail down the side of Tony’s neck that got his skin tingling and his nerves alight with fire. Tony raked a hand through the hair on the side of Steve’s head and turned the blonde’s head so the brunette could reclaim those lips. Lips met lips and tongues fought for domination, eager to taste, to mark, to own._

_Breaking the kiss for a moment, Steve pulled Tony to his lap and, bucking up, the brunette felt the hard, persistent press of his husband’s crotch against his._

_They’d never been friskier than open-mouthed kisses and necking before. It was always Tony who would stop them getting more intimate than that. Whether it was because he was still uncomfortable or afraid, he didn’t know._

_But this time, Tony was too hungry for Steve’s taste to voice his reservations._

_The genius-billionaire braced his hands against the back of the couch, his arms on either side of Steve’s head and ground his hips against his husband’s, to which Steve responded with a guttural moan of undisguised pleasure._

_Tony lowered his head to plant another deep kiss on the blonde’s mouth and insistently wrapped a hand around Steve’s neck to pull the latter’s face closer, so he could kiss the other man deeper. All the while, their hips ground against each other’s in a rocking motion. Hot. Charged with unseen electricity._

_“I want to make love to you, Tony,” Steve murmured against Tony’s mouth. “Can we?” He brazenly asked, boring those blue eyes into the brown ones._

_“That would be unfair to you,” Tony whispered back, in between chaste pecks. “I don’t remember how we used to do this.”_

_“I remember,” Steve reasoned, light protest tingeing his throaty voice. “I remember that you like it when I kiss you here,” and Steve touched Tony’s chin to turn his head to the side, so he could lave and suck at the pulse point below Tony’s left earlobe. “I remember that I can turn you to jelly when I do this,” and Steve combed his fingernails up, up, up Tony’s spine from tailbone to between his shoulder blades. “I remember that I can distract your genius brain when I kiss you like this,” and he shoved his tongue in the brunette’s mouth, so deep it was hard to say where Steve ended and Tony began._

_“Is that not enough?” Steve asked, taking a break from the last heated kiss._

_“No,” Tony answered with a sad smile and another deep kiss. “Because_ I _would want to remember what to do to please you, too.”_

But good God, Tony missed him; Tony missed his Steve. So much that his soul felt broken and that pieces of it were all scattered in places where Tony had no hope of ever finding them and putting himself back together. And it hurt that he had _a version_ of Steve here who was just as kind, loving and persistent towards his own beloved—his own beloved who _wasn’t_ Tony.

Steve’s own beloved who, for his part, was in love with _Tony_!

The image on the panels changed to the one of Steve untiringly running and throwing the kite towards the sky, and then picking it up and doing it all over again when it refused to soar. Again and again. All the while giving Tony encouragement.

Tony focused on that smile and felt stinging at the back of his eyeballs.

He had told Steve he was dealing with this, but he was nowhere near letting this go—letting Steve go—than he was to fully forgiving himself for his decisions that fucked up his life—his _family_ —here. He wasn’t sure if it was possible to stop feeling this way even if this Steve was not _his_ Steve.

Tony felt a half-sob, half-whimper escape from his lips, and he pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes to stop his pain from flowing through there. Feeling so frustrated he wanted to yell until his throat bled, Tony raked a hand through his hair and viciously pulled the BARF nodes off.

He hung his head and tried to compose himself when he suddenly felt the unmistakable prickling at the back of his head, as if he was being watched. It was a weird feeling because he made sure that he was alone in the hall. Breathing a calming exhale, he turned around and found nothing but banks of equipment and cabinets against the walls behind him.

Until he looked up towards the observation deck and was greeted by the sight of Barnes, staring at him with wide and glassy eyes, animated with newfound discovery.


	23. 23. BUCKY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky catches Tony using the BARF and they, grudgingly, talk things out. Tony is a selfless idiot, but two can play at that game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY FRIDAY AGAIN y'all!!!!! Thanks to the many, many comments for the past two chapters!!! Blockbuster hits!!!
> 
> So another Friday, another chapter! ^_^ I'm really sorry I cannot write quicker. Real life rears its head every once in a while. To think I don't even have a social life to share in the pie of my time. I only have work, family, reading books (my Goodreads shelf is a nightmare, I tell you...), writing fics (three WIPS, what the fuck was I thinking?!?!?), and now I've started watching Season 3 of AVENGERS ASSEMBLE and I'm on Season 1, Episode 5 of DAREDEVIL (and I'M LOVIN' THEM!!!!!) Matt Murdock/Charlie Cox is AWESOME!!! So yeah, that's the extent of my life for you. I just thought I'd share to show you that someone with a more uneventful life exists, so keep your chins up about yours *winks*. ^_^
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you think. Give me conjectures about what you think Bucky's planning to do. We have officially come full circle now: Steve knows Tony loves him (Bucky knows about it too); Tony knows Bucky loves him (Steve knows about it too); and Bucky knows Steve loves him (Tony knows about it too). But we come to the next stage of our sordid tale--now that everyone who needs to know knows, what are they all gonna do about it?!?!?! *cue suspenseful music* Do any pairings seem clearer or more likely than others? Which angle do you think should happen first to make it more realistic? I need to pick your brains, so let me know your thoughts. Also, still unbeta-ed (the whole thing), I just self-edit. So, if you spot errors, feel free to give me a heads-up and I'll love you forever for it. ^_^
> 
> Enjoy your weekend, everyone! Enjoy this chapter! See you all next update!  
> \---

****Bucky slept fitfully for the seventh straight night that week. He kept on tossing and turning in bed, wrapping himself in his blankets but throwing them off his body after a while, hugging a pillow and kicking it off the bed. Finally, at a little past two o’clock in the morning, Bucky gave up trying to sleep completely and angrily got out of bed to start burning a trail on his bedroom floor by pacing to and fro the entire length of his room.

He could ask FRIDAY for some footage of Tony singing like before the—well— _before_... But Bucky had a feeling that instead of calming him down as it used to, hearing Tony’s voice would make him even more restless.

It’s been seven days since Steve’s birthday, seven days since he’s seen Tony last, and seven _damn_ days since he’d had more than a couple hours of agitated sleep. He couldn’t stop thinking about the feel of Tony’s hands pushing Bucky away and the look on Tony’s face that was a cross between bewilderment and rage regarding Bucky’s audacity to come on to him like the former Sergeant did.

Bucky didn’t even realize that he’d worked himself up to outing his newly-discovered feelings for Tony. They had only been arguing in Clint’s house’s dining room because Tony was planning to spirit himself away in the night without even saying goodbye to anyone and they’d started hissing at each other—Tony was annoyed, and Bucky was annoyed that _Tony_ was annoyed. Add to the fact that Bucky felt frustrated that after numerous attempts to get Tony to socialize and reconcile with the Avengers family, especially with _Steve_ , the billionaire was really nowhere near close to resolving his alienation from the rest of the team.

Suffice it to say that things escalated pretty quickly from there and next thing he knew, he had Tony’s face in his palms and Tony’s mouth flush against his as if Bucky was going to die if he didn’t have a taste of Tony as soon as humanly possible.

Maybe Steve was right in that he should have followed Tony that night and cleared the air with him, explained what had happened. Steve had said that Tony didn’t do well with being given space, and Bucky knew he was probably right. He _had_ hoped that given the shaky friendship he, himself, had established with Tony, the genius could be…persuaded to be different. But lo and behold, Bucky hasn’t seen hide nor hair of Tony Stark since that kissing fiasco.

It was just that Bucky was suddenly at a loss when it came to what to tell Tony; he didn’t know how to explain himself to the other brunette—why he suddenly forced himself upon Tony and plastered his lips on the latter’s. He didn’t think he could look Tony in the eye and get one coherent word out of his mouth by way of explanation. So, he saw it fit to give that particular opportunity to Steve, who’d also wanted to talk to Tony to fix their broken friendship once and for all.

Bucky didn’t think he had it in him to be such a coward.

After agitating himself into full wakefulness by walking back and forth in his bedroom, Bucky got fed up with it, too, and stormed out of the room to walk somewhere else—anywhere else—just to try to get his mind out of the gutter that was his quite sordid situation: Steve was in love with him but he was, in turn, in love with Tony, and how could Tony ever love him back when he was responsible for murdering the elder Starks and tearing the Avengers apart when Steve turned his back on Tony during the confrontation in Siberia?

He walked the entire perimeter of the living area before talking himself out of nursing a mug of tea as he used to do before. It never helped clear his mind then, it wouldn’t help him now.

Bucky then went to the rooftop landing pad where he basked in the witching hour gusts of early summer wind under the velvety deep blue sky studded with stars that were otherwise invisible had the facility been located in the city. But here, surrounded by rolling fields and sparse woods, the galaxy was out in full force, commiserating with Bucky’s melancholy and confusion.

He saw it fit to walk the perimeter of the rooftop landing pad as well, for lack of better things to occupy himself with. He was treated to the full 360-degree view of the entire facility its state-of-the-art buildings, satellite receivers, solar panels, communications towers, arms bunkers and training grounds. It was an entire world in and of itself.

His eyes fell on the medical building where the BARF hall was. He hadn’t had any need to go there these past couple of weeks what with the destruction wrought by the Winter Soldier that it had to be repaired and reconstructed first before his treatment could re-commence. He actually surprised himself, realizing how much he missed going there for his BARF sessions. Bucky couldn’t believe he would ever find his memories more palatable than his current life. But they actually were. He actually missed reminiscing his traumatic memories now rather than wallow in how complicated his life had become.

It was close to three in the morning when Bucky decided to walk to the medical building to see how far along the contractors had come to repairing the BARF hall. Maybe they were almost finished and he could get back to his treatment. And maybe, too, he wouldn’t have to think about Steve and Tony and the situation he had stupidly gotten himself into.

He took comfort in the sound of his even breathing and the scratch of the soles of his shoes against the ground as he trudged the distance from the residential building to the medical building. He walked as slowly as he could; he wasn’t in any rush, enjoying the solitude and the peace of his thoughts that he hadn’t had since—well—he couldn’t remember.

The entrance hall of the medical building was dark and quiet as the grave when Bucky made his way inside, having offered up his thumb for scanning at the door. He didn’t need any lights to get to the BARF hall from there because his feet just seemed to know where they were going because of muscle memory. When he got to the BARF hall entryway, he was met with a barred door that refused to open even to repeated scanning of his biometrics.

“FRIDAY, is the BARF hall on lockdown?” Bucky asked, puzzled that his codes to enter were being rejected.

“ _I’m afraid so, Sergeant,_ ” the AI replied, her voice echoing eerily in the otherwise empty corridor where the BARF hall was.

“’s it still under construction, then?” Bucky continued on his line of questioning, sheepishly scratching at the back of his neck. Perhaps this had not been the best of ideas. He ought to have asked FRIDAY first if he could go check out the developments in the BARF hall. “I was hoping I’d get to see how much longer the construction guys’re gonna take before the repair works are done.”

“ _Actually, sir, the contractors are wrapping up on the repairs. You may be able to return to your BARF sessions within the next couple of days,_ ” assured FRIDAY.

“So…is there no chance that I can see the superb repair work myself, like, right now?” Bucky tried to humor the AI.

“ _I’m afraid the BARF hall will have to remain on lockdown, Sergeant._ ” For her part, FRIDAY sounded genuinely apologetic.

Oh well, it was worth a try. “I…see then. I guess, I’ll just have to wait until my next BARF session to see the reconstruction works,” Bucky relented, shuffling his feet and turning so as to go back the same way he’d come in.

It was only as he was passing by its door that it occurred to him: the observation deck. There was another way into the familiar space that was the BARF hall after all. The advantage to the observation deck was that it had an ordinary door knob and locks, too. Easy-peasy for someone like _Bucky_ , who had taught Captain America to pick locks when they were teenagers, to open.

Barely three minutes since he’d resolved to force his way through the door of the observation deck, Bucky was twisting the knob open and slipping silently inside. He was expecting the observation deck to be just as dark and quiet as the rest of the building, so he was quite surprised when he found it illuminated by a play of lights from the BARF hall. Indistinct voices also bled into it from the larger hall below.

Curious as to who could be inside the BARF hall when it was supposed to be on lockdown as FRIDAY had said, Bucky came closer to the glass to find out.

He was startled to find none other than the elusive Tony Stark standing before the three-sided panels and using the BARF; but what floored him even more than finding Tony there was what the projection on the three panels featured: it was Steve; Steve _with_ Tony. Steve who was very much with Tony if that steamy kissing on the couch between the two men was anything to go by.

Bucky knew that spying on Tony like this was damn near unforgivable. It didn’t matter that he was charmed to the gills by Tony or that he cared about Tony’s welfare. He should be hightailing it out of there. But his feet were nailed to the fucking floor. His jaw dropped of its own accord and his heart started skipping in his chest.

Had Steve and Tony been together? Is that why Tony took Siberia so hard because Steve had betrayed him and chosen Bucky over him despite what the two Avengers had had between them?

But—but it didn’t make sense; Steve would have told Bucky if he’d been in some kind of relationship with Tony before Bucky re-entered the picture! And besides, had Steve not told Bucky that he had always been in love with the latter? So did that mean that Steve only took Tony to be a sort of _substitute_ in Bucky’s place that when Bucky had turned out to be alive and well, Steve just realized that he was still in love with Bucky after all and abandoned Tony like a used rag?!

That didn’t sound like Steve at all…

But what other explanation was there for what the BARF was showing?

Tony was still probably hung up over Steve while feeling abandoned and betrayed by what had happened in Siberia; Steve had turned his back on Tony because he was still in love with Bucky; and Bucky, who was Tony’s parents’ murderer and the reason that Steve had abandoned Tony and broken up their Avengers family, was now in love with Tony.

And Bucky had once thought the Barton dining room situation couldn’t get any worse—oh how wrong he was!

Bucky felt his heart drop to his feet and his stomach clench painfully when he noticed how dejected Tony’s posture was, how the BARF footage’s background noise was not loud enough to mask the half-whimper, half-sob that unmistakably came from the subject/viewer of those memories, how Tony brought the heels of his palms to his eyes in a last-ditch effort to staunch the overflow of the pain that he was futilely trying to hide.

Oh God, but he— _Bucky_ —did this. If Steve had not found out that he was alive, Steve wouldn’t have left Tony. If Bucky had actually _died_ in that ravine, Tony and Steve would probably still be happy together. Instead now, Bucky had to watch the pain of the one he loves, reminiscing about times gone by with the one _they_ love. Like they were the characters in some twisted novel being written by the world’s most cruel sadist.

Bucky wanted to leave there—to brood and drown himself in self-pity in his room, or shake Steve awake and yell himself hoarse to his friend’s face, or vanish or die like he was supposed to. And yet a part of him also wanted to punch this glass into a million, tiny pieces, jump down to the BARF hall and wrap his arms around Tony.

Tony didn’t need him, though. Tony needed _Steve_.

Before he could take a step away from the glass to do any of the things he had been thinking of doing, Tony yanked the BARF nodes off his head and, with a jerk of his shoulders, turned around self-consciously. Then, Tony looked up and their eyes met—Tony’s glassy and pained eyes with Bucky’s shocked and equally pained ones.

Neither of them moved, not even a twitch. They held each other’s gaze evenly; not one of them betraying what emotions really lay beneath the surface. Until Tony, with a tight clench of his jaw, walked towards the banks of computers, pulled up a dark screen with lines upon lines of code and started typing like nothing was the matter—like he had been doing nothing but type code for hours.

Bucky hung his head, unsure if that was his cue to make himself scarce because if Tony didn’t want to talk about the Barton dining room debacle—and he’d walked out in a huff and in a hurry to avoid that, then he sure as hell wouldn’t want to talk to Bucky about _this_!

_“You should go after him—talk to him. Tony is… He’s not good with space.”_

Well, if there was anyone out there, apart from Jim and Peter, who knew Tony best, that’d be _Steve_ , right?

Tony couldn’t hide out in the BARF hall forever and he was going to have to pass the observation deck’s door along the one and only corridor that would take him back to the entrance hall and out of the medical building. Bucky wasn’t going to pull a Steve and give Tony a _nine-month_ -wide berth. Tony was going to hear him apologize, and he was going to hear the truth about the BARF footage he had walked in on. Today.

And would you look at that, it only took him a forty-minute wait to accost Tony. For his part, the latter didn’t seem like he was planning on rabbiting out of there.

“Can we talk?” Bucky was straight-to-the-point, brazenly meeting Tony’s brown eyes that even in the dim lighting of the subterranean medical building hallway appeared guarded.

“Doesn’t seem like you’d be willing to give me a choice in the matter with you standing in my way like that,” spat Tony, cocking an eyebrow. “Walk with me back to my workshop. There’s something I need to show you.”

If it was more surprises, Bucky didn’t know if he could take any more. But he didn’t tell Tony that. He just nodded his assent and fell into step beside the other brunette.

They were barely out of the medical building when Bucky blurted out, “I’m sorry, Tony.”

“For what—for coming on to me or for spying on my personal memories?”

“Both,” stated Bucky. “I guess I was frustrated that you keep on detaching yourself from your family when there’s no reason for you to. I wanted to let you know that I deeply care for you and that you didn’t have to go it alone. I wanted to let you know that I could protect you—that I _want_ to protect you. That I want to lo—“ But Bucky stopped himself from finishing that sentence. What need did Tony have of _Bucky’s love_ —what—like it could replace and make up for everything that Bucky had taken from him?

“I didn’t know, Tony,” Bucky changed his tack. “I didn’t know that you and Steve were—“

“—you didn’t know because Steve and I _weren’t_ ,” Tony interrupted, his face seemed as if it was set in stone. “What you saw in there—it’s not what you think it is. See, before you woke up, I, too, was asleep. I was in a coma. We were fighting some baddie and Strange zapped my consciousness to another dimension where I stayed for three months while my body remained here. What you saw in there was just some of the events that happened in that other dimension,” explained Tony lucidly and clinically. There was no awkward stuttering, stolen glances or pained expressions. It was as if the other brunette had bled his pain dry inside the BARF hall and nothing was left.

“So...what you’re saying is that, in that other dimension, you and Steve were—“

“—yeah. In that other dimension, _another version_ of Steve and I were… _really close_ ,” Tony said in effort to downplay the implications of what he thought Bucky had seen in the BARF footage. _Really close_ seemed like a damn understatement, all right.

“Does Stevie know?” Bucky burned with the question. “Does Steve know about these…memories?”

“Yes,” answered Tony without any embellishments. His answer was on the soft side that even Bucky, with his superhuman hearing, barely heard it above the wind. They were still walking at a pretty sedate pace back to the residential building with Bucky half a step behind Tony.

“I’m sorry,” repeated Bucky, drawing a blank on what else to say. Though it burned him, wanting to know how Steve took the news, he held his tongue. It wasn’t his place to pry. What they’d talked about that _other dimension situation_ was between Tony and Steve. “I didn’t mean to see the BARF footage. I shouldn’t have stayed when I realized what I’d walked in on, but…” Bucky trailed off.

Why _had_ he stayed? It was an inexcusable invasion of Tony’s privacy, and Bucky should’ve left Tony alone. But he’d read the pain and unbearable heaviness weighing Tony’s shoulders down the very moment he’d seen the figure standing in the middle of the BARF hall, and his heart just went out to the genius-billionaire. Bucky’d wanted to share in Tony’s torment, _to understand Tony’s pain_ , so he’d stayed—his feet were glued on the observation deck’s floor.

The former Sergeant couldn’t think of anything more to say so he bit his lips between his teeth and just walked in silence, a little bit behind Tony.

How were they supposed to move forward now—the _three_ of them? Bucky had told Steve that the latter would do well to turn his affection towards someone else—someone who was less fucked-up in the head, someone who had less baggage. Bucky didn’t know what Tony was willing to give him—if Tony was going to offer him the same lame advice. And if Steve already knew about Tony’s unique predicament, what _had_ Stevie told Tony—did he perhaps offer his help? Did Tony even need help, and if so, what kind of help was available to deal with—what— _ghost memories_?

“You know what? I’m gonna let this pass. I’m also gonna let the dining room thing pass. You don’t need this kinda baggage bugging you and distracting you from what’s more important: your recovery,” Tony changed the topic, stealing a glance at Bucky who was still walking half a step behind him. A half-hearted smile graced his profile. “ _Your recovery_ should be your first priority.”

“Just like that? So—what—we’re just gonna sweep this all under the rug?” Bucky asked, discomfited anew at the brash way that Tony was willing to let all this go. Tony Stark, the _Lord of Keeping It All In_ , was rearing his head again. After a short period of unusual candor, Tony was beginning to clam up, preferring to treat their situation as nothing but mere trifle.

Tony’s eyes narrowed and he cocked his head, regarding Bucky with an inscrutable expression. “Why—what were _you_ expecting, Barnes? Are you really just as masochistic as your best buddy that you actually want to hear me _reject you_ or something?”

“If you must, then yeah,” brazenly answered Bucky, jutting his chin out proudly even though his insides were roiling. It seemed that he was about to get a taste of his own medicine, but he steeled himself. That was better than pretending that everything was fuckin’ copacetic. “ _Anything_ ’s better than pretending that there ain’t nuthin’ wrong.”

If Bucky sounded pissed off, that was because he fucking was.

“You and Rogers are better off trying to make it work between the two of you,” Tony came right out and said it without mincing his words that there was no way that Bucky could’ve prepared himself for the genius-billionaire’s rejection. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m flattered and everything that I could—what—still catch your attention despite my being on the wrong side of 40, but the point is, I think—no—I _know_ that your attention would be better directed at Steve, trying to make it work with Steve.”

Bucky forcefully breathed through the mouth to settle the twisting of his insides at that. Despite having suspected all along that Tony was going to give him _The Brush-off_ , especially after that explosive walkout on the evening of Steve’s birthday, hearing it plainly still felt like being punched in the gut. But what _was_ he expecting, really? He was responsible for the elder Starks’ deaths and for tearing the Avengers apart, and on top of that, he was a headcase of the highest order. Tony wasn’t going to want anything to do with him. Bucky was even surprised that _Steve_ had wanted him at all.

Wouldn’t that make things so much simpler, though? For Bucky to just reciprocate Steve’s affections… But no, he had to involve Tony Stark in the hot mess that was his life. It wasn’t that Bucky would’ve rather had feelings for Steve instead, no. Steve was right—we love who we love; but things _would_ ’ve been a lot less complicated if he just loved Steve back.

Yet, as damaged and broken as Bucky was, he had _‘chosen’_ to love Tony. He _wanted_ to love Tony, protect him, take care of him, make him smile, listen to him talk about technology, show him that he could be someone’s first choice, stay by his side when everyone else abandons him…

“If you’re trying to foist me to Steve because of what I’d said to him when he’d walked in on us—“ Bucky began to retort; an edge of desperation to change Tony mind laced his voice.

But Tony interjected, “—this isn’t about that—“

“—about your parents and Siberia—“

“No!” Tony raised his voice with a stop-right-there gesture. “It’s nothing to do with you—what you said or what you did. It’s not you; it’s _me_. _I’m_ the problem. Loving me is exhausting—don’t believe me? Ask my ex, Pepper. She’ll tell you that loving me is like looking out for a ticking time bomb. There’s only one way it could end—I’m going to explode and I’d take you down with me. You’ve gone through shit— _are still_ going through shit; the last thing you need is to keep loving someone like _Tony Stark_. I’m telling you this because it’s the absolute truth and you sorely need to hear it, Bucky,” Tony explained like he would if he were rattling off cold, hard facts.

But what Bucky had zeroed in on was the name Tony called him by: _Bucky_

“You just called me Bucky…”

“Isn’t that your name?”

“You’ve never called me by that name,” Bucky pointed out. “You said you weren’t sure if you could ever get used to calling me by that name.”

“If you don’t want me to call you by that—“

“No!” Bucky interrupted. “No. I—I do. I want you to call me by that name.” _He was getting rejected_ and here he was: he couldn’t help his heart from swelling with happiness when Tony’d called him Bucky just the one time; he was such a hopeless sap.

“Look, if you’re worried that this might mean I’d stop helping you, don’t be. I’ll still be here to help you until you’re well and truly recovered from the HYDRA programming,” assured Tony, looking down on the ground they were trudging. “But, really, you’re better off directing your affections to Steve instead of me.

“Steve is—well—he really loves you, and I think it’d be the best move if you give yourself a chance to learn to love him back,” Tony encouraged. “Cap’s sacrificed a lot just to protect you. Yours is the epic love story to trump all love stories there ever were,” Tony said, trying to make light of the conversation.

“Except that I’m not in love with Steve,” Bucky emphasized. “I’m in love with you.” He wrapped his flesh hand around Tony’s forearm to get them to stop walking. If he could only get Tony to look at him…

“Steve is not difficult to love,” the genius suggested, looking at the hand on his forearm but not the eyes of the person who had him in his hold. “You’ll learn to. In time,” Tony continued with a soft gravelly voice, loaded with meaning.

Bucky couldn’t help but detect a certain sadness to the way Tony’d said it.

There was no more conversation until they’d both made it to Tony’s subterranean workshop in the residential building. For his part, Bucky was immersed with all sorts of thoughts swimming in his head: Tony’s memories of the other Steve that Bucky’d witnessed through the BARF, the way the genius-billionaire was on the verge of crying just looking at those memories, Tony’s relatively kind rejection of Bucky, and Tony’s advocacy to further the Steve-Bucky love story of the ages.

His thoughts were all in a roiling tumult, so much so that he couldn’t even give proper appreciation to the next iteration of his cybernetic arm that Tony saw fit to show him now.

Tony was in the middle of telling him how the new model was so much more kick-ass than the one Bucky had on when the latter suddenly blurted out, “so does this mean you’ve stopped _hating_ Steve then?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You want me to try to learn to love Steve because he’s always been in love with me. Does that make you—what—like, a _champion_ of Steve’s best interests now?” Bucky asked, his mood beginning to sour now that it was sinking in that Tony was not only rejecting him, but was trying to shove Steve down his throat as well.

“It’s not _Steve’s_ best interests I’m trying to protect here; it’s _yours_ , Bucky,” Tony underscored. “Besides, I don’t hate Steve.”

The former HYDRA asset snorted so loudly at that, the sound echoed all over the workshop. “I may be an amnesiac, Tony, but I’m not stupid,” Bucky scoffed. “How do you explain all the tension between the two of you, your stubborn avoidance of him? There were five others of us who’d stood by Stevie during the tussle at the airport and it was two of us who’d ganged up on you in Siberia, but it’s just him, you refuse to have anything to do with. Yet now, you’re suddenly raising the Steve flag and telling me that I couldn’t do better than give Steve a chance? Shouldn’t you be taking your own advice, _Stark_?”

Tony opted not to respond but just busied himself with detaching Bucky’s old cybernetic arm and mounting the new one to the arm stump. He worked steadily and methodically, without the rush that characterized the installation of the prototype. The genius-billionaire was entirely focused on the arm, keeping his face averted so that Bucky wouldn't be able to read anything from it. However there was an aura to Tony now, too, that wasn’t there before. The genius-billionaire looked exhausted and resigned.

“Do you know what I do first thing, as soon as I get to the workshop?” Tony asked, out of the blue. His eyes remained downcast and his face in shadow.

Bucky didn’t answer; he only waited for Tony to continue.

“I open a holo-screen and watch Steve make several circuits around the compound. Or train by himself in the gym or get through an average of three punching bags a day. Then, I watch him make breakfast. Usually, you would be there, too. After that, I watch him train with the rest of the team. Or draw in his room, or read in the library. I keep on watching when he accompanies you to your BARF sessions, bake cookies with you, tinker with his motorcycle with you. I watch him while I work, even while I deliberately steer clear of the team, of him. And all that time that I watch him, do you know what I’ve come to realize?

“He loves you more than life itself. And he’s so happy to have you back that the happiness practically shines out of his eyes and his smile.

“I’ve forgiven him… I’ve forgiven him a long time ago. Why do you think you’re here and that I’m helping you? Even I, with all my angst and my ego, can’t keep hating a person whose only mistake was that he wanted to do right by the one he loves,” Tony reasoned with a soft shrug.

It hit Bucky then, like a right hook to the jaw—Tony’s memories of that other Steve when he’d used the BARF, his pain, his avoidance of Steve but his subsequent encouragement for Bucky to give loving Steve a shot, _everything_ about what Tony’d said only now…

Tony and Steve might not have had a relationship before Bucky re-entered the picture, or Tony’s memories might be of a different Steve from a different place and time—but that didn’t mean Tony didn’t feel anything for Steve _now_.

“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?” Bucky asked, looking at Tony’s downcast face and willing him to look back. “You’re in love with _Steve_. Don’t try to deny it.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Tony said, finally staring squarely into Bucky’s eyes. “These damn memories are just screwing with my head. Anything I might feel for Steve is— _it’s not real_. But _his_ feelings for you are. That’s all you have to concern yourself with.

“Now, _this arm_ doesn’t need constant adjustments anymore. It’s self-sustaining. That means you don’t have to keep going back here and bugging me,” Tony segued, smirking. But it didn’t reach his eyes. He closed the access panel on the arm with a certain finality to it before standing up and clearing the nearby table to occupy his hands.

“Think about what I told you, Bucky. And hey, you’re welcome in advance because—really—I’m saving you from a world of pain here,” Tony said with an air of jest, turning a bit to catch Bucky from out of the corner of his eye. “I have a new project to start now so…if you could just show yourself out, that’d be awesome.” It was then that he completely turned his back to Bucky.

“Goodbye Tony,” Bucky said, getting up from where he’d sat while Tony installed the new arm and holding his head high at the same time. He wasn’t going to show Tony how much everything about their situation frustrated him, so much so that he wanted to seize Tony by shoulders and shake him until his teeth rattled.

Bucky was willing to let this go. But only this time. This didn’t mean the end of Bucky’s mission to protect Tony and make him happy. This _also_ didn’t mean that he believed Tony’s flippant disregard of the real extent of the genius-billionaire’s feelings for Steve. Because Bucky didn’t. Not one fucking bit.

He was just buying himself time to regroup because Bucky knew Tony well enough by now to know that _forcing_ the latter to change his mind was not the way to go.

A plan was already taking form in Bucky’s mind.

If Tony could be ready and willing to do right by the one he loves, then so could Bucky.


	24. 24. STEVE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve runs into Sharon and then gets eye-opening advice from Bucky on how to approach Tony and try to re-establish their friendship without the risk of getting shut out. Will the tactic prove itself successful, though?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy--well--I am a bit late as it's 2 am on Saturday here already. But as I'm only a couple of hours late in uploading, I hope it's no biggie for those who are awaiting the next installment... HAPPY WEEKEND EVERYONE! There, nice save!!!
> 
> So, let me know how you're liking a glimpse of Bucky's plan so far. But this is only as far as the Steve angle goes. We have to wait and see how Bucky will deal with Tony. And, of course, Buck is not the only Man with a Plan. For sure, Tony also has one, too. After all, he's just convinced Bucky to give Steve the time of day, so Tony also has something up his sleeve.
> 
> Thanks to the regular and new commenters of this story. It always my greatest pleasure and privilege to be informed of your ideas and your thoughts on the story so far. 
> 
> Sharon makes an appearance. Do you like Steve's idea that maybe Sharon is the one he ought to direct his affections towards? I have to confess that as a Stony shipper, I never liked Sharon. I think she's just in the way to an otherwise clear path between Steve and Tony. But I thought it would be good for us to see where Sharon's arc picks up after CA:CW. I don't know how vital she'll really be in our three-way love story though. I'm toying with the idea of Steve and Bucky both liking Tony and Tony being all "woe is me, who will I choose?" But that depends on how Stony can catch up with the organic-ness of WinterIron. It's all hinged on Bucky's plan... Dun dun dunnnn!!!
> 
> Anyway, enjoy the chapter and the weekend my lovelies!  
> \---

****Steve raised a hand in reserved greeting as he passed by a group of SHIELD agents who smiled and ogled at him. The long corridor was crawling with them that there was no way that Steve could get through from the entrance hall of the building to the office of current SHIELD Director Jeffrey Mace unmolested by the stares of the young and impressionable personnel.

Well, he probably could if he didn’t arrive so early as he always did since consultation work for SHIELD started on a multi-agency early response and mop-up task force. But as the Captain has always prided himself for being both conscientious and punctual, he always arrived early to swing by the Director’s office to pay his respects before heading out to the training grounds where the new recruits that needed to be whipped into shape would be waiting for him.

That was his routine since two days after his 99th birthday celebration. It had all started out way before that, though, back in late May/early June, as nothing more than unofficial and intermittent discussions about the possibility of manning a multi-agency and _multinational_ response team that would be working closely with the Avengers in keeping with the amendments to the Sokovia Accords. The early logistics planning gave Steve something to ponder over whenever he wasn’t otherwise preoccupied with Avengers team training and Bucky’s rehabilitation. After the temporary suspension of the BARF sessions, SHIELD, as the lead agency, became even more concerned with involving him in the recruitment and training process. And now, after over a month of trying to iron out the kinks and involving other agencies, both national and international, the project was finally underway.

The kick-off to the SHIELD consultancy for this task force couldn’t have come at a most opportune time, too. Not that he needed some sort of escape from the impossible situation he had found himself embroiled in back at the compound, with Tony and Bucky, but he needed something else to occupy his mind or he would go bat-shit crazy.

Steve didn’t know which was worse: not talking to Tony in fear of triggering some unseen tripwire that would unleash all the rage; or talking things out with Tony and finding out that the genius-billionaire has these…memories of being together—being _lovers_ in some other dimension, which was making Tony think that he was—what—in love with Steve?!

And then, there was the awkward/not awkward situation with Bucky, where Steve was—and the 21st century actually had a _term_ for this— _friend-zoned_. Steve wanted to make himself believe that their set-up was not as excruciating as it actually was, and even after having been hopelessly rejected, he found himself able to bear it that his love remained, and probably _always_ would be, unrequited. But it became a whole new level of painful when Steve found out about Bucky’s feelings for Tony.

Yes, he _definitely_ needed something else to occupy his time and his mind rather than mull over the new developments, which were making the Avengers facility feel as stifling as a damn cupboard rather than the acres upon acres of space that it actually was.

Steve thought it would be easy to take Tony’s word for it, too, that the latter had got the other-dimension situation under control, that he didn’t need Steve’s help, that it was only a matter of time until Tony could flush these confusing memories out and the emotions towards Steve that they go hand-in-hand with, but the Captain found that he couldn’t simply turn his back on his friend and his woes. It was probably Steve’s pervasive sense of honor and instinctive concern for his friend that kept him from just ignoring Tony’s problem. No, he couldn’t—no matter how much Tony wanted to treat his own problem as a trivial one, Steve couldn’t. He didn’t want to just stand there and do nothing to help Tony. But what could he do when Tony himself was trying to push him away? _Again_. Push Steve away again. Like, didn’t they just do this before, but now they were at it again! It was similar to a repetitive dance.

Then, there was Bucky still. And Steve’s desire to bridge Bucky and Tony because he was certain that Tony could actually help Bucky get better in leaps and bounds more than a bucket-load of Steve’s best intentions ever could. He knew that pushing the two together would, in no way, be helpful for _Tony’s_ predicament, yet Steve really believed that Bucky could be good for Tony, too. Wasn’t Tony more sociable and accommodating of the rest of the team and less aloof and somber because of Bucky before? Wasn’t that enough proof to show that having Bucky in his life was good for Tony?

Ah, damn it all to hell! Why did it have to be so complicated now when all he’d wanted was to return home and fix his relationship with the friend he had hurt so terribly?

There was no use trying to mire himself in these problems when he was supposed to be focusing on the task at hand. His problems weren’t going to solve themselves no matter how much he kept thinking and worrying about them. SHIELD had asked him for help recruiting and training personnel for the multi-agency task force that would aid the Avengers, and Steve had better get his head in the game to do his job. Until the United Nations was informed of Steve’s decision regarding the amended Sokovia Accords, this was the only thing he could do to pull his weight around here for the Avengers Initiative.

After a quick greeting thrown Director Mace’s way, Steve strode towards the training grounds to greet his recruits and put them through the wringer anew.

This haul of forty-four excitable, bright-eyed, impressionable, young men and women was Steve’s captive audience for him to cultivate and discipline to be the best possible support group for the Avengers. But for now, Steve would just be happy getting them in sync enough not to shoot each other in the butt in panic.

After spending his morning running attack formations and teaching and illustrating defensive and offensive tactics to the recruits, Steve’s next stop after a quick lunch in the Senior Agents’ lounge would be the fight simulation bunker to discuss with the SHIELD engineers and scientists the best equipment to build that would be both instructive and challenging to his students.

He was nursing a tumbler of iced tea and a sub sandwich while staring off into space when a body brushed against the back of his head and made their way to take the seat across from him on the remotest corner table he had claimed for himself. He was jolted out of his preoccupied reverie to find former SHIELD Agent and current CIA liaison, Sharon Carter, sitting in front of him with a serene smile on her beautiful face.

“Hello Steve,” greeted Sharon, cocking her head sideways. “It’s great to see you again.”

“Sharon,” Steve greeted back with a self-conscious smile. “Wow… H—how are you? It’s been…a long time. I’m really glad to see you again. Are you…back with SHIELD?” Steve had to wonder what she was doing there considering that the last time they had seen each other, Sharon had been working with Everett Ross as the CIA connection to the Joint Counter Terrorist Centre.

“No, uh, just helping to iron out the kinks to the multi-agency task force supporting the Avengers Initiative under the amended Sokovia Accords,” clarified Sharon. “You know me. I like to have my finger in many pies.”

“And here I was, thinking I might have gotten you sacked in the CIA when you had to help us bust our gear out of lock up.” Steve was greatly relieved, blowing an audible exhale to show just how relieved he was.

“Not the first naughty thing I’ve ever done that could’ve cost me my job,” Sharon reassured, shrugging. “So…I heard from some junior agents around here that you’re helping in the recruitment and training of the multi-agency task force members. How’s that coming along?”

“Slowly but surely,” candidly answered Steve. “I’ll whip them into shape yet.”

“Well if anyone can do it, you can,” Sharon said, raising her cup of tea in a mock toast. “I was glad to hear you’d found your way back to your team.” Steve could seriously hear the gladness in her voice, if that was possible.

“I’m back at the Avengers facility, if that’s what you mean,” countered the Captain. “But as far as running missions with my team is concerned, I have yet to do that,” he disabused Sharon of her impression, tapping his right forefinger on the tabletop in a staccato rhythm.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Steve. Why, though? I mean…if you don’t mind my asking,” Sharon asked curiously.

“I’ve yet to let the UN know of my position with regard to the amendments to the Sokovia Accords. And I don’t want to have to expose my team to any…issue if I run missions with them when the Avengers are still clearly under the mantle of the amended Accords,” explained Steve, noticing that the rhythm he was tap-tapping against the tabletop was becoming faster.

“Hey, if you’re back in the facility, maybe we can have coffee some time?” Sharon supposed, tucking loose strands of her wavy golden hair behind one ear.

Steve was quite surprised by the subtle invitation, but he supposed he could do worse than accepting it and giving himself the chance to move on from being so hung up on his feelings for Bucky. He did kiss Sharon Carter that one time and actually find her attractive, or he wouldn’t have kissed her. Granted, she had just busted their gear out of the hands of the Joint Counter Terrorist Centre at great risk to her job and Steve had felt like it was the least he could do; but no one had forced him to plant her one—in front of _Bucky_ , no less—and she really _was_ pretty in a sweet, as-different-from-Bucky-as-she-could-get, and you-kind-of-owe-her-big-time-Steve kind of way, so yeah, Steve kissed her.

Maybe Sharon was exactly what Steve needed right now. She was someone else Steve could turn his otherwise unrequited affections towards. Bucky did say that Steve was better off directing his love at someone less conflicted, someone who might actually love him back.

Not that Steve was going to turn his back on Bucky, no. Bucky was always going to be Steve’s best friend, someone whose back Steve would always have, someone whose best interests Steve would always look out for. But wasn’t it high time—after over _eighty_ damn years—that Steve finally turned his affections towards someone else who just might be able to reciprocate the love he was more than willing to give?

What if Sharon Carter was that someone?

But before Steve could reply, accepting Sharon’s invitation, his attention was stolen by a horde of people hurrying through the courtyard outside the slice of window that Steve could see out of. In the middle of the horde was the unmistakable tousled brown-black head of hair of one Tony Stark. And the sight rendered him temporarily tongue-tied.

What was _Tony_ doing there?

“Tony? What’s Tony doing here?” Steve wondered out loud and craned his neck to try to follow where the group was heading.

“Word on the street’s you’re not the only one that Director Mace has engaged in the capacity of consultant,” Sharon shared what she knew about Tony’s presence around SHIELD headquarters. “He’s asked Mr. Stark to consult on the science and engineering part.”

“Oh,” Steve replied, uncertain as to what else to say. “Well, Tony’s the obvious choice, of course.”

“Wait—aren’t you guys living together in the Avengers facility? Why didn’t you know that he’s consulting for SHIELD just like you are?”

The question stung a bit because it rubbed in Steve’s face that he and Tony weren’t exactly talking to each other and were far from the bosom buddies Sharon probably thought they were. “Y—yeah, yeah we are. It's just that...Tony’s really busy with…stuff and we don’t get to chat all that much,” covered Steve up, shrugging. They didn’t chat; they would just walk on eggshells a lot, scream and walk out on each other and, you know, occasionally kiss, too.

God _damn_ …

Sharon probably knew more about Tony consulting for SHIELD than Steve did at this point… “Listen Sharon, how about if I do you one better by having dinner later?” Steve asked, adding quickly, “if you’re free, of course… My treat.” An earnest smile that he knew was hard to turn down and suspect of having ulterior motives accompanied the counter-invitation.

“Sure. OK…” Sharon indulged with a demure grin of her own.

Running into Sharon Carter was proving itself quite serendipitous. He could momentarily forget about his predicament at home; he could start taking Bucky’s suggestion to turn his affections towards someone else seriously; and he could find out more about what Mace needed with Tony, and if only through that, start feeling like he was part of his friend’s life again.

Catching up with Sharon during dinner was exactly what the doctor ordered. If Sharon didn’t have an early day the next day, Steve was sure they could have kept on chatting. But as it was, he knew the night couldn’t stretch endlessly and he was going to have to get back home and back to reality sooner or later.

When he was bisecting the kitchen and dining area to go to his rooms in the second floor of the residential building at ten-thirty in the evening, he was gobsmacked to find Bucky seated by himself on the dining table, unmoving and nursing a cup of tea in the near darkness. It was a good thing Steve didn’t spook easily or he’d have thought it was some kind of ambush and made a racket that would no doubt wake the whole house up.

“Buck— _Jesus_! What are you still doing up? You nearly scared the devil out of me,” Steve remarked, shuffling his feet but making for the fridge after he’d recovered his bearings. He got himself a glass of water and sat across from Bucky. He knew Bucky enough by now to suspect that something was bothering his friend, hence, the sleeplessness.  “You OK?” He didn’t want to sound like a prying mother hen, so he hoped he was able to rein the concern in.

“Yeah, I…just couldn’t sleep,” said Bucky, flippantly. “You know how I am after BARF sessions—“

“—wait—you had a BARF session? I didn’t know you were supposed to have a BARF session,” Steve interjected, feeling guilty all of a sudden. This was the first BARF session of Bucky’s that Steve had missed.

“Well—the BARF hall was all fixed already…plus you had work at SHIELD. I made the call. It’s fine, Stevie,” assured Bucky with a kind smile. “I can’t expect you to always be around for these BARF sessions. You have your own life to live…responsibilities to others. You can’t always be there to hold my hand through these things,” continued Buck with a knowing smirk that, to Steve, didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’m still sorry I missed it, Buck,” apologized Steve. “Was it a new memory or…something we’ve already seen before?”

“New one,” answered Bucky. “But I don’t really wanna talk about it, if it’s all right with you.”

Steve shrugged. “Can I at least ask who’d accompanied you?”

“Natasha and Stephen were there. I was in really good hands, so there’s no use fretting over missing it, Stevie,” reminded Bucky as if reading the expression on the blonde’s face. “What about _you_ , though? Strolling in at ten-thirty in the evening with a smile on your face. Somehow I don’t think Director Mace had it in him to keep you at work until this hour or, even if he did, you wouldn’t be smiling about it,” teased Bucky with another knowing grin.

“I ran into a friend and we had dinner,” confirmed Steve, lowering his head because he was feeling shy all of a sudden, telling Bucky these things.

“You had a date.” It wasn’t a question.

“It _wasn’t_ a date. It was Sharon,” defended Steve with a look that was unimpressed. “You remember Sharon?”

“You mean that pretty dame you planted one on for busting your gear out of lock-up in Germany?” Bucky asked, his blue-gray eyes growing wide.

“It was her job on the line. It was the least I could do,” clarified Steve, in case Bucky suddenly got ideas.

“You don’t have to be defensive about it, you know. Not to me, Stevie,” said Bucky with a smile that was now a mix of knowing and sad. “I’m happy that you’re…taking my advice. I know that she’s a great girl. I mean, if you like her, she must be. Did you have a good time?”

“Yeah, it was pretty good,” confirmed Steve with a nod.

“And yet you come barging in way before midnight. What gives?” Bucky teased.

“She has an early day tomorrow and needs the rest,” reasoned Steve. “Don’t be a tease.”

A beat. They sat across from each other in comfortable silence, with Steve finishing his glass of water and Bucky taking intermittent sips from his cup of tea. But Steve was still disquieted about his friend’s current behavior. “This isn’t just because of the BARF session earlier, is it, Buck? What’s really on your mind?”

“I talked to Tony,” Bucky said and then continued, “I know about his memories from the other dimension.”

Well, damn.

“What are you going to do about it?” The former HYDRA asset asked, leaning forward and planting his elbows on the edge of the table. It was then that Steve noticed that Bucky’s cybernetic arm seemed different. Was it a new model arm, maybe? How could he not have noticed it sooner? When was the last time that he and Bucky talked? When could Bucky have caught up and talked to Tony?

“I…really don’t know. Tony said he had it under control—that he was dealing with it,” Steve relayed to his friend. “I don’t know how to help him. He doesn’t want me to, and I don’t want to have to force myself on him. His memories are…complicated. If I try to force my help—or even my company—on him, it might just as easily hurt him more than do him any good.”

“He said that you were really _close_ in that other dimension,” commented Bucky. “Like… _how_ close?”

Steve had to remind himself that it was Bucky who was asking him—Bucky, who was in love with Tony, who, despite being broken and damaged, permitted himself to care for Tony. “Like… _married_ close,” candidly answered Steve. There was no use sugar-coating it for Bucky’s benefit. “But Tony’s convinced that he can deal with these memories. He can dissociate himself from it. He’s convinced that that other-world me is hugely different from—well—me.” Steve wanted to reassure Bucky that that, in no way, meant that there was no hope that Tony couldn’t like Bucky back.

“And you believed him?”

Well that other-dimension Steve Rogers had to be, right? He had to be different from this-universe’s Steve Rogers. Because that other-Steve had been in love with and married to Tony whereas he wasn—

Steve shrugged, dejectedly. “What else _can_ I do? He’s just going to keep pushing me away. Having me around is simply excruciating for him.”

“Have you talked? Has he forgiven you?”

Unless you could count being kissed out of the blue as tantamount to forgiveness, then no, Tony hasn’t forgiven him. In fact, Tony’s very words were: “ _we are fucking done here, Rogers_ _. Y_ _ou wasted your time going back here. Because as I see it, how things used to be—we’re never getting that back_.” Now, weren’t those as different from forgiveness as it was possible to be? “We’ve talked but…I don’t know. We really didn’t settle anything when we talked. I don’t think he’s forgiven me,” answered Steve, shoulders hunching in defeat.

Leaning back on his chair and crossing his arms over his chest, Bucky cocked his head to the side and asked again: “so what are you going to _do_? Are you telling me that you’re just going to walk away? That’s it?”

Steve raked a hand through his hair and exhaled forcefully through the nose, closing his eyes. He seriously didn’t know what to do. He felt so useless. So powerless. He wanted nothing more than to have things the way they used to be. But was Tony right? That there was no getting it back?

“You didn’t come here to beat around the bush and walk on egg shells around Tony. You came here to earn his friendship back, Stevie, and you shouldn’t let these other-dimension memories be a setback to that objective,” commented Bucky, his displeasure evident. “The fight shouldn’t be over until you hear that forgiveness from his lips.

“Remember when you were telling me how you and Tony started out?” Bucky continued. “Would you say that the friendship between you came easy?”

Steve narrowed his eyes. Being friends with Tony was a lot of things but the one thing it had never been was easy. Steve could remember telling Bucky about that. About how his friendship with Tony had begun. “No it wasn’t easy, you remember? I told you that Tony and I had said some nasty things to each other when we first met and even after we’ve found it in our hearts to cooperate for the good of the team, we still disagreed a lot, bickered like we breathed,” recounted Steve. He knew a fond smile was forming on his face. Because his friendship with Tony was not easy, but by God, he missed it. He missed it—he missed his friend very much.

“Then, all the more reason you shouldn’t throw in the towel on what you came here to do: to fix things with Tony, come hell or high water. If it hadn’t been easy before, it won’t be easy now. Doesn’t mean you’d just give up… You don’t have to talk about the memories. Or force your help on him because, really, how do you solve a problem like his? You don’t have to keep harping about the Accords or about Siberia either,” said Bucky with a roll of his shoulder. “The point is: there must be some _other_ common ground that you can find to lay the foundation for rebuilding your friendship.”

It was then that Steve really confirmed that Bucky _was_ getting better. He wasn’t fully recovered yet but he’d surely come a long way. He not only had the same tenacity that drew Steve to him in the first place, but he also had the maturity that could have only come from his unique life experience.

Then again, Steve had another inkling about where all this was coming from: if Steve could be stupidly self-sacrificing when it comes to love, who’s to say that Bucky wasn’t equally as stupid or as self-sacrificing?

“Buck, can I ask you something?” Steve asked after a period of thoughtful silence between the two of them.

Bucky only shrugged his go-ahead.

“Are you telling me this as someone who just happens to want to see me fix my friendship with Tony or as someone who’s in love with him?”

It was the former Sergeant-cum-assassin’s turn to breathe a deep sigh. “Tony’s given me the same speech that I gave you,” Bucky blurted out. “Now, I know what it feels like to be fed a dose of my own medicine,” he chortled, humorlessly.

“Buck—“

“It’s fine, Stevie. It’s all right,” assured Bucky anew. “This is probably for the best. I mean, he’s right anyway in that my recovery should come first. How can I possibly love someone else when I haven’t even forgiven myself for the horrible things I was forced to do in the past? How can I protect and care for someone else when I’m always half-afraid that I’d hurt them myself because of this… _monster_ in me that I haven’t really learned to accept and integrate with? He’s right. I shouldn’t think about love yet. Love will come. At the right time,” explained Bucky.

Steve must have still looked unconvinced because Bucky smiled at him again, a genuine smile that time. “I can handle rejection, you know. I’m gonna do like you. While you date and play the field to find the right one—the one you deserve and who deserves you, I’m gonna find myself and focus on getting better. I will be better, Steve.”

“I’ve no doubts,” agreed Steve, licking his lips and giving a thin-lipped smile of his own.

“But to answer your question, I’m saying this as someone who’s a friend to you both. I just want both of you to regain what you’ve lost and rebuild your family,” said Bucky with unmistakable sincerity. “And let’s just say that I’m tired of having to stare at your forlorn mug every time you’re thinking about trying to earn Tony’s friendship back,” joked Bucky, mischief in his smile and the Brooklyn brogue in his voice.

Steve chortled at that with a shake of his head. He reached for a square of paper towel from the holder atop the dining table, scrunched it into a ball and threw it playfully at Bucky, which the latter evaded easily with a hum of good humor.

Bucky had a good point, of course. Steve didn’t have to force his help on Tony when it came to dealing with the other-dimension memories. But that didn’t mean he had to stop trying to be Tony’s friend again.

If they couldn’t be _like_ what they were before, Steve supposed they’d just have to be… better.

-0-0-0-

“FRIDAY, is Tony in his workshop? Is it possible to discuss something with him about his SHIELD consultancy?” Steve asked as soon as he’d set foot in the residential building after parking his motorcycle in the garage.

He’d just come in from SHIELD HQ after his day-long training stint there. There was no monumental breakthrough among the recruits that day, not that he was expecting any. It was getting somewhat alarming though that instead of meshing together better, they seem to be getting in each other’s way more. And Steve thought he’d seen it all training the Avengers during their early days. Apparently, he was wrong. The Avengers actually worked a lot better together than this group of SHIELD recruits that he was seriously considering beginning to thin out the herd. Maybe if the group were smaller, he could be better getting them to work together. The Howling Commandos and the Avengers _were_ small groups after all.

Maybe he wasn’t cut out for getting big groups of operatives in line.

He supposed he could ask Natasha or Sam for some advice. But if truth be told, there _was_ one person whose advice Steve was practically foaming at the mouth to hear. However, he wasn’t in the SHIELD compound that day, so Steve had to reserve his questions and concerns for when he got home at the Avengers facility.

Steve crossed his fingers, though, that Tony wouldn’t just snub him.

“ _He is, Captain. Allow me to relay your request,_ ” FRIDAY answered. After a period of silence that Steve spent patiently waiting in front of the elevator doors, FRIDAY spoke again at the same time that the elevator pinged open: “ _the Boss will see you now._ ”

Steve breathed a sigh of relief he didn’t know he was holding.

“Cap, wha’ssup?” Tony asked, not bothering to look at Steve and tearing his focus away from the piece of equipment he was soldering. “FRIDAY said this is about my SHIELD consultancy? How did you even know that SHIELD’s tapped me as an engineering consultant? You’re not _spying_ on me, are you?”

“No, I, uh, saw you there the other day,” Steve replied, willing himself not let things get awkward.

“Oh OK,” Tony countered, stealing a quick glance at Steve. “Because if it was Mace who’d told you, I’d remotely send a virus to his personal servers to teach him a lesson for ratting me out.”

“Did you know that Mace also asked me to consult on recruitment and training?” It was Steve’s turn to ask.

“No,” Tony said with petulance. “Hang on, I’ll just remotely send Mace a virus to his personal servers for this unforgivable lack of transparency,” sarcastically spat the genius-billionaire. Steve wasn’t entirely sure if he was just kidding or not. “What is it you really came down here for, Rogers?”

“I need to discuss equipment and weaponry for the fight simulation arena for the recruits. I’m assuming that you’re being consulted for its construction among other things?” Steve began, all business-like, pulling up a wheeled stool so he could sit near Tony and within the latter’s eye line.

“Yes, SHIELD is serious about preparing the recruits to be multi-agency task force ready. I actually have a list of fight sim equipment and modules from SHIELD engineers and technicians,” Tony answered just as business-like. “FRIDAY, put the list up for the Captain to read through. Now, would you say that based on the readily observable skill sets of your recruits, all these would be material and relevant to their training?”

A holo-screen flashed right in front of the two of them and they started out discussing in earnest about the potential equipment, what would be a good fit for the arena so that Steve could play to the recruits’ strengths and improve on their weaknesses. Tony might not be the battle tactician that Steve was but the former, nevertheless, made great suggestions on the recruitment and training front such as for Steve to potentially consider breaking the recruits into smaller teams based on their skill set. Steve might not be the technological and engineering genius that Tony was but the Captain also put in his two cents’ worth when it came to useful technology that would really enable not only Steve but the recruits themselves to track their individual and team improvements during training.

“Is it possible to make an algorithm that could measure how well or bad a certain team meshes together?” Steve asked. “Because I think that would really help them—as individuals, to find what skill of theirs a team most likely needs, or as a team, to get a feel of which skill set combination is most effective for their purposes.” Steve used the holo-screen to make a hypothetical scenario to illustrate his point to Tony.

“You’ve never been a big believer of those kinds of computer programs,” Tony pointed out. “Aren’t you the type to put more premium on the human element?” Tony eyes looked less guarded and more open than they had ever been as Steve caught himself staring.

And how had they gotten so close together that he could see the specks of green and amber in Tony’s honey gold eyes?

“Well, I’m all about the human element if my operatives aren’t more inclined to shoot their comrades in the ass than the villains they were supposed to fight against,” complained Steve, crossing his shins together and, similarly, crossing his arms over his broad and muscled chest.

Tony snorted. “Someone _actually_ shot someone else in the ass?”

“Unbelievable, right? I’m starting to lose faith in my training skills, if I even had any to begin with,” groaned Steve.

“Hey, you got Barton and me to work together and I never shot him in the ass no matter how many times I’d wanted to do it, I say you’re entitled to give yourself some credit,” retorted the genius-billionaire, pulling up a new coding screen to try to make the base for the algorithm that Steve was thinking about.

“The recruits I’m working on are no Avengers, that’s for damn sure.”

“Thank God for that,” Tony countered, fingers inhumanly flying over the keys of the holo-keyboard.

“So you think you can devise a rough algorithm to measure teamwork success rate or something? Just for training purposes so we can roughly determine the teams that would work most efficiently on the field. And then I can compensate for the human element with some room for trial and error and mixing and matching,” reasoned Steve.

“Yeah, I think we can do that,” confirmed Tony. “It’s not gonna say anything you don’t already know, though. For example that an impulsive loner who likes things that go boom and doesn’t take direction well won’t work with a by-the-rule-book tactician who can adjust on the fly but likes pulling self-sacrificial plays as a last resort,” illustrated Tony, his eyes not leaving the coding screen not even to look at Steve from out of the corner of his eye.

“Did your rough algorithm say that?” Steve asked, smirking. “Because you just described you and me, and I already know for a fact that we work well together so, no offense, Tony, but that just means your algorithm _sucks_.”

“Just because I never shot you in the ass doesn’t mean we worked well together, Cap,” Tony bantered back, which made Steve actually snicker.

They threw a couple more ideas back and forth and actually made a dent on the list from the SHIELD engineers, crossing out a few things and substituting a few more, with Steve giving practical input on Tony’s initial designs based on what the Captain thought his group of recruits needed the most.

Steve even thought that he and Tony could’ve easily talked well into the night if the former’s stomach didn’t make a loud growl of protest in the middle of their brainstorming.

“Hey, you—uh—wanna get a bite to eat together? I really want to keep talking about these ideas and, you know, we’re really on a roll here,” Steve invited, tentative.

Part of him was already preparing for another Tony Stark-trademarked letdown. But part of him seemed to think that Tony was not finding this exchange too shabby at all. It was the first time since—well, Steve couldn’t remember—that he and Tony talked, like _really_ talked, not about how to get past their conflicts but about a _common ground_.

Tony has always challenged Steve intellectually. And the latter would like to think that he’s always tried his best to challenge Tony, too. If they could just sustain this conversation somehow… Just a couple hours more…

“You mentioned the prevalent SHIELD culture about going for more defensive rather than offensive weapons—more electromagnetic rather than incendiary, you just might have something there. Think you gave me some good ideas and I’d really like to keep discussing that, so yeah—let’s go,” Tony casually agreed, getting up from his own wheeled stool and stretching to get the kinks out of his back. “Right behind you, Cap.”


	25. 25. TONY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Tony get dinner. Revelations and requests abound. Tony goes to Bucky's BARF session for the first time since the first ever session, and Bucky makes an awesome suggestion to Tony on the matter of Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I have a two-day delay on this chapter. My apologies but real life intervened and it sucks vacuum cleaners right now. I am currently on a business trip to our Project site again and am updating this in my hotel room. Thank God for Wi-Fi.
> 
> Anyway, had to finish this in a rush so I won't be surprised if it's chock-full of errors. Still unbeta-edited so if you catch errors, please give me a holler, OK?
> 
> Your comments and thoughts are still appreciated. Let me know what you think about Bucky's masterful plan. Do you think he's the only one who has a plan? What do you think will happen during Movie Night?
> 
> It's the beginning of the week here already, so enjoy your week, my lovelies! ENJOY this chapter, too!  
> \---

****“FRIDAY, where’s everyone? What happened to dinner?” Tony asked when he and Steve stumbled into a darkish kitchen and dining area. Unusually, no one was even around to watch TV in the living area. The entire floor was empty and unlit as if no one was home.

“ _Dinner was four hours ago, Boss. The rest of the team has long since gone to their respective rooms for bed and in Vision’s case, to Command Center for his shift,_ ” answered the AI.

“Maybe…we can heat up some leftovers?” Steve tentatively suggested.

 _Or_ maybe getting dinner with the Cap was _not_ a good idea and the cosmos was reminding Tony exactly of that fact. To hell with discussing how to equip and arm Cap’s new multi-agency task force, this was all shades of awkward and now they have a darkened floor all to themselves with no team member as a buffer and nothing to eat but leftovers—if there were even leftovers.

“Or I can make some sandwiches for us, I’m sure there’s some bread and ingredients for a ham and cheese, at least,” offered Steve, pulling his sleeves higher up his forearms as if preparing himself to get his hands dirty in the course of whipping something up that was remotely edible for them to eat.

All the while, Tony was internally calculating the pros and cons to that option. He was going to have to try to keep the conversation going while Steve bustled around the kitchen preparing the promised sandwiches, and at the same time, he was going to have to endure watching Steve stretch up to reach overhead cupboards, bend down to retrieve kitchen implements from cupboards under the counter and from the bottom shelf of the fridge, flex his arm muscles tossing these ingredients together, and listen to him blather on about technology and what Tony’s ideas were regarding equipment upgrades.

That would be all levels of fucking _hell_ as it would be too reminiscent of the time spent with his husband. So no, Tony wasn’t that much of a masochist to want to endure _that_. _But_ he wasn’t going to be a snob either, because Cap did ask nicely and they _were_ having a very intellectually-engaging discussion that Tony _would_ actually be sorry to see the end of so soon.

Decisions, decisions…

A growling sound broke the silence of the kitchen. Steve looked sheepish that that atrocious sound had come from his own body. That did it for Tony’s internal debate. “How about we get drive through instead? It’d be quicker. You sound _really_ hungry,” observed Tony, trying his absolute hardest to tamp down on his amusement.

“Yeah, sure—OK,” acceded Steve, scratching at the back of his head with an embarrassed air about him. Then, it was his turn to follow in Tony’s heels as the latter strode briskly towards the stairs again to get outside and to a car for 24/7 burger or something filling enough for a famished super soldier.

Blessedly, they kept chatting about the more mundane SHIELD consultancy concerns while Tony drove and Steve fidgeted in the passenger seat where he’d got his long legs in quite a tight fit: Steve blabbered on about what he’d noticed as the more prominent strengths of his current batch of recruits; Tony asked Steve if the latter’s had time to try out the fight sim with the recruits and if he had any initial comments on the equipment that Tony could start improving on; Steve talked about the more disastrous incidents between his recruits during training exercises that elicited quite a few tickled snorts from Tony; and Tony told Steve his reasons for indulging Mace when he was approached to consult.

They only stopped talking shop when they paused to say their orders for burgers, fries and soda in a Burger King drive through which was the nearest open establishment that they could find.

They were parked facing the wall in the lot at the back of the burger joint, eating their burgers and fries, and Steve has just paused after relaying a particularly humorous incident with his youngest recruit, whom Steve suspected of having been recruited on the day he’d turned eighteen, when Tony interjected: “aren’t you worried then that your consulting work for SHIELD is going to eat into your time for overseeing Bucky’s treatment and rehabilitation?”

If Steve noticed Tony’s slip of the tongue, calling Bucky by his more familiar name instead of the usual _Barnes_ like he always had, he didn’t show it. Tony, however, noticed his own slip and his face scrunched up at the realization. How very stealthy of Barnes to have ingratiated himself to Tony and the latter had not even realized it until now.

Regardless, Tony didn’t regret his decision to let Barnes down easy and encourage him to set his sights on giving Steve a chance. Those two were meant to be happy together after the sacrifices they’d done for each other. And Tony needed to get his head screwed on straight again. He hadn’t even dealt with the problem of his own distrust for his so-called family, now he had to contend with Steve-memories-from-some-crackpot-universe and a lovelorn Barnes on top of that.

If only he could flip the fates the bird and be done with it…

“Yeah, it’s kind of already doing just that. I missed a BARF session yesterday,” Steve confessed, setting his half-eaten burger down on his lap with a bit of dejection in his demeanor. “But Bucky insisted that it was OK. Besides, apart from helping Bucky, consulting with SHIELD is basically the last thing I have going for me right now.”

What? What the hell was Steve on about? “The hell are you talking about?” Tony asked, confused and bewildered at the same time.

“I mean, until the United Nations knows of my decision regarding the amended Sokovia Accords, training the new recruits for the multi-agency task force is the only way for me to pull my own weight around here,” explained Steve with a noncommittal shrug.

“Then what are you _waiting_ for? You know what you have to do,” retorted Tony, scoffing without a shred of amusement or levity. “Your place is with the _Avengers_ , Cap. You’re meant to lead the team when they run missions instead of training noobs for SHIELD,” pointed Tony out, brandishing a fry towards Steve. He was getting frustrated and angry at Steve again. He had sworn not to let his emotions run high around Steve in fear that things that Tony wanted to avoid talking about were going to be dragged in the spotlight, but Steve was being stubborn and difficult again.

What issues could Cap still possibly have with the amended Sokovia Accords? Tony had put together the brightest legal minds in the international law scene to find him a palatable middle ground on this matter, yet Steve was still holding back on this like the stubborn ass that he’d always been. What else was he expecting Tony to do—invite the damn Pope for tea?!

Restraining himself from shoving the rest of his Whopper down Steve’s throat in anger and throwing the blonde out of the damn car, Tony calmly gestured with a deep breath and said: “look—if you’re still having issues with the amendments to the Accords, you’re not solving anything by sitting on it. Contact the Stark Industries legal team; they can clarify a few things to you. Or—or reach out to T’Challa and ask him for the possibility of sponsoring the injection of some addenda to the—the provisions that you still find unfair and overly restrictive. There might also be the possibility of petitioning the United Nations itself so you can request to address the assembly to interpolate your case before them—force your objections to be put into a vote or _something_ for a better—“

“—I already signed it.”

“—formulation of the Sokovia— _what_? What did you say?” Tony was half thankful he hasn’t just swallowed something or it would have surely gone down the wrong pipe and he’d be hacking up a lung right now.

“I already signed it,” repeated Steve, still in that understatedly quiet way of his like this wasn’t something major that just about changed—what— _everything_ …

“I signed my copy of the amended Sokovia Accords. It’s just that, I haven’t sent my signed copy to the UN so that they’d know that I don’t have any more objections with it,” Steve said, boring his eyes into Tony’s as if trying to read the latter’s reaction to his revelation. Tony did his level best not to reveal too much of the warring emotions squeezing his insides this way and that right at that moment.

“I did exactly that. I…contacted the SI legal team to ask clarificatory questions. I got in touch with the international lawyers who’d lobbied and defended the amended Accords both in their countries of origin and before the General Assembly. I discussed with Natasha and Sam and Clint about it until I was satisfied that this was the right thing to do,” Steve explained, clutching the half-eaten burger in his big hand on his lap like it was both a lifeline and the most delicate thing there ever was.

“So why haven’t you told them yet? _What_ are you waiting for?” Tony repeated the question, still trying to understand what Steve could hope to gain by keeping the UN in the dark that Captain America had already decided to come aboard.

There was no way that Tony could eat anything at this point. He didn’t know if he’d actually lost his appetite or eating just wasn’t all that important right then.

“For my family to be complete,” Steve whispered, so soft that Tony had to lean toward the other man, straining to hear what was said.

“Cap—“ Tony began, his tone rife with both reproach and threat. He just wasn’t ready to deal with this, hash this out with Steve right now. Not again. The night of Steve’s birthday was still quite fresh in Tony’s eidetic memory.

“Look Tony, the last thing I want to do is to force you into _anything_ by doing something I should’ve done fourteen months ago, no,” Steve said, clarifying his intentions. “This is not me foregoing my principles just to get you to forgive me. And before you say anything about it—this _isn’t_ about Bucky either. I haven’t changed my opinion about the Sokovia Accords; I _still_ think it was a bad idea. I just… The _amendment_ to the Accords was your compromise, Tony, and this… _This_ is mine,” remarked the Captain, hanging his head to stare at the long-forgotten remains of his burger clutched within his hand.

“And for what it’s worth, I think you’re right. I understand now that things will never again be like they used to. And maybe that’s all right. It was _how_ things used to be that caused this problem—this _conflict_ between us anyway,” admitted Steve, his eyes unmistakably sad in the glow of the floodlights illuminating the parking lot. “But I think…if we could have a chance… We could be better— _I_ could be better. A better leader for our team, a better strategist, a better person… _I_ could be a better person to you, Tony,” Steve appealed, biting his lower lip between his teeth.

It was as if Steve had already blown off the last of his steam after that because complete silence reigned in the car. Without the hum of the engine, the static of the radio, or the easy conversation of _superficial_ things—things that they were permitted to discuss in lieu of what they didn’t have the gumption to talk about, there was nothing but the noise of each of their thoughts.

Tony didn’t know what to say or even if he did— _how_ to say what he wanted to without sounding like a broken record.

“I believe you.” Tony meant it, too. “Listen Steve, I’ve already forgiven you. I’ve forgiven you a long time ago.” He couldn’t say that a weight was lifted off his chest by saying the words _to_ the person who was meant to hear it, no. But it felt like putting a period at the end of a sentence. Like closing a book after reading the last, conclusive paragraph. Like scattering a loved one’s ashes to the sea. You knew it was over but the heaviness was never going away. Because there was always another sentence after the last. Another book to begin and fall in love with. Another loved one to consign to oblivion sooner or later.

It didn’t feel uplifting to have said it. Only that it _needed_ to be said.

“Send your signed copy to the UN and be the Avenger that you were always meant to be,” Tony said, breathily. Realizing that there was still a half-eaten burger in his hand as there was in Steve’s, Tony moved to re-wrap his burger and stuff it back in the paper bag for consumption at a later time. He was definitely not in the mood to eat anymore.

“Not until you’re also the Avenger you were always meant to be,” bargained Steve with a straight face.

Tony had to laugh at that but the sound seemed to ring hollow inside the confines of the car. “I don’t think you know what you’re asking, Cap,” commented the brunette. “I’m _retired_. My place is in the workshop, keeping an eye on things in front of a holo-screen. It’s not in the war room and it certainly isn’t on the battlefield.”

“You can’t retire from _family_ , can you?”

“The Avengers Initiative doesn’t need me,” reasoned Tony, scoffing and refusing to hear what Steve was trying to insinuate. “My best days as Iron Man are behind me. You’re better off retiring my jersey, Cap; trust me. What do you even need Iron Man for? If you want aerial support—eyes up top, you’ve got Rhodey, Wilson and Vision. If you need a problem solver-science geek type, you have Peter and Lang. And none of the lip, sarcasm and backtalk, too.

“And may I remind you of what happened the last time I ran a mission? My subconscious was _zapped_ to another dimension where it stayed for three months. I’d really rather not have that happen again. And do you really need that kind of complication on the field? Because trainees shooting other trainees in the ass is a goddamn _frolic in the park_ compared to that train wreck,” stated Tony, chortling derisively at his own expense. “You don’t need me, Cap. You gotta trust me on this—“

“—but we do, Tony. We need you— _I_ …need you,” Steve said so resolutely that Tony groaned inwardly.

Was Steve really so low as to play this card with Tony? Like maybe he knew that Tony would find it hard to say no to _him_? And this was why he was avoiding Steve like the plague. Because of this, right here…

_“I waited seventy five long years for the right partner. And now that I have him with me, I know I will love him for the rest of my life. I love you with everything that I am, Tony Stark.”_

_“But we do, Tony. We need you—_ I _need you.”_

Tony turned towards his passenger, head cocked and the tip of his tongue between his lips, assessing Steve. “What do you _really_ want from me, Steve?” He asked, frustrated and just itching to burn rubber out of there and be back at the compound where he could have three floors and several feet of reinforced concrete between him and this man. He knew this dinner-slash-discussion was a _fucking terrible_ idea. He should not have been lulled into a false sense of security that Steve wouldn’t want to talk about the hard stuff _ever again_. Not after that travesty of a discussion they had on the night of the blonde’s birthday.

This was his fucking fault, too, for bringing up the subject of Barnes. How had they gotten to here from there _anyway_?!

“ _A chance_. A chance to show you that we can be a family… and a better one,” repeated Steve, not in the least bit frustrated that Tony was seemingly not listening or refusing to listen to him.

Jesus—was it not enough that Tony had told Steve that he was forgiven? Did he have to ask this of Tony, too?

 _Now_? Now, when the _memory_ of Steve was still so fresh in—

Fucking…fucker!

Tony started to chew his lower lip and the inside of his mouth with such ferocity, he was surprised his mouth had not started gushing blood. How was he going to get out of this?

Steve had already signed the amended Accords; Bucky was already on his way to recovery; Tony’s already expressed to Steve that he was forgiven; Steve knew about the other-universe memories and Tony did say he was dealing with those because had he not emphasized over and over that _this_ Steve was not _that_ Steve? So, if he tried to keep avoiding the Captain, the latter’d be clued in that Tony was really having trouble dissociating from his memories, which would give Steve all the more motivation to harangue him and volunteer his help. Which left Tony with what other excuse to keep _avoiding_ Steve?

Someone omniscient and all-powerful must have it in for Tony Stark. There was no other reason for this much vindictiveness towards him otherwise.

“I’ll think about it,” Tony mouthed, moving to start the car, because, really—they had better get back home before Steve could think of any more things to hound Tony with. And before Steve could complain about the vague assurance, Tony interrupted him, “and yeah—no, that’s all I have for you right now, Cap.

“Yeah, sure—OK,” Steve said, swallowing his protests, for which Tony was quite thankful for. The blonde returned to nibbling the remnants of what remained of his burger in silence as Tony pulled out of the parking lot.

The drive back to the compound was, in comparison to their drive out, blessedly silent.

Tony’s mind was half focused on driving and half swimming in the riptides that the night’s conversation caused.

Maybe it was time to re-think his decision to keep the memories of his husband and their blissful life together and pay Stephen Strange another visit.

-0-0-0-

Tony breathed a deep sigh that was a bit of a raspberry at the same time. He’d been at SHIELD HQ all morning since about the crack of dawn because of some issue with the servos that hordes upon hordes of SHIELD engineers, scientists, technicians and programmers couldn’t fix. So, Tony had to be called in. He was only on his way back to where he’d parked his car to go on back to the Avengers facility now that the issue’s been resolved.

He hurried along through the courtyard, careful to keep his eyes averted from meeting anyone else’s, not for fear of seeing what was writ clear in their eyes: judgment, distrust, mockery, begrudging admiration or whatever. He just wanted to get the hell outta there as soon as possible before he ran into Steve.

Now that he knew that the Captain was also probably around the area, he really didn’t want to have to risk running into him again. Their conversation late last night was still pretty fresh in Tony’s mind. And though he’d had all morning to ruminate on it, he still didn’t know what to do about Steve’s unusual request and his own unusual and unacceptable reaction whenever Steve was around him.

It was while he was right smack in the middle of the courtyard and deep in thought that he made the mistake of lifting his gaze from the ground and was gifted with the sight of the self-same Steve Rogers he was trying to avoid, sitting right across from Sharon Carter on a SHIELD senior agent lounge table and chatting animatedly with her, complete with candid smiles and much amused lip pursing.

Tony tried to keep his annoyance in check but he miserably failed. What was Rogers doing, flirting with the Carter woman when he was supposed to be in fucking love with Bucky?! Didn’t he tell Tony that—that he was in love with Bucky? What the fuck was happening?!

He knew he shouldn’t feel this way; he shouldn’t feel anything after seeing Steve with another woman, but Tony couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help but feel like he was _burning_ from the inside out because of raging jealousy. He had already learned to accept the Captain with _Bucky_. After all, theirs was an epic love story: Steve Rogers had always been in love with his best friend; best friend went and died during the damn war, or did he? Because seventy-five years or so later, he turned out to be alive and all fucked up in the head—couldn’t remember a damn thing, but Steve fought for his best friend anyway, against all odds to the point that he’d had to turn his back on his other friends to take his best friend’s side against the whole fucking world. Now, if that wasn’t _epic_ then Tony wasn’t a real genius but a nincompoop.

And here was the jackass, flirting with another instead of fighting to keep wooing said best friend—what?!

Tony nearly ran over two pedestrians, four bike messengers, a fire hydrant, a dog and three saplings, driving whilst filled with inexplicable crossness at Steve, the Carter woman, Director Mace and, for some unknown reason, Stephen Strange. He actually got back to the facility in record time—an hour, fifteen minutes when the drive should’ve taken him two and a half hours easy.

He told himself he was better off walking this anger off instead of getting immersed in soldering work or he was going to end up burning something—his fingers, for sure. So, while still in the garage, he went and asked FRIDAY who was home and where they were. Sure, his former teammates were probably going to find it weird that Tony was voluntarily seeking them out to ‘hang out’ but it was better than accidentally burning his fingers with a blowtorch or staring at a holo-screen, waiting for Steve to drag his cycle back home.

“ _—and Sergeant Barnes currently has a BARF session with Ms. Romanoff overseeing it,_ ” FRIDAY finished doing a headcount.

“Huh—wait,” Tony froze just as he was on the garage’s threshold. “Are you telling me that Natasha is _alone_ , overseeing Bucky’s session?”

“ _I’m afraid so, boss. She’s the only one available and Sergeant Barnes insisted on holding a BARF session presently despite the fact,_ ” replied his AI.

Tony, himself, had never been to a BARF session apart from the first one and when there was a glitch on the programming that one time. It wasn’t that he was trying to avoid it because of the possibility that he’d see his parents’ death featured on one of the sessions, which was highly likely anyway, but that he avoided it because he knew _Steve_ was going to be there, all worried-Mother Hen over _his Bucky_. Tony didn’t think he could deal with that—with or without his other-dimension memories—without flying off the handle, so he stayed away from the BARF sessions.

But then, Steve wasn’t there _now_ , was he? Tony’d left him behind at SHIELD HQ, schmoozing with that Carter woman. Plus, Natasha was alone. Which were never good odds in case the Winter Soldier decided to make an unscheduled appearance…

“How’s the coding? Is the BARF performing OK?” Tony asked, still hanging around the garage’s entrance.

“ _Fabulously, boss,_ ” assured FRIDAY. But with or without that assurance, Tony’d already made up his mind as to where to go for some much needed distraction.

The observation deck was expectedly not crowded when Tony slipped in. Then again, Steve had always been larger than life even all by his lonesome, that it was easily because of his absence that the observation deck seemed rather empty with just Natasha’s small but lithe frame filling the space.

“Hey,” Tony was the first one to utter a greeting. If Natasha was surprised to have him there, she didn’t show it. “Overseeing all by yourself?”

“Everyone else from the Rehab Team is out and Steve’s still at SHIELD,” explained Natasha. “I asked Barnes if he wanted to postpone today’s session but he wanted to go through with it,” she continued, crossing her arms over her chest and turning back towards the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the BARF hall where Bucky was already in the middle of reliving a memory.

There was a short period of silence as they watched their patient and the footage that the three-faceted panel provided them with. “New memory or something you’ve already seen before?” Tony asked out of interest. It _was_ his first time to oversee after all, save for the first ever session way, way back now.

“You’re going to have to ask him about that.” Nat nodded towards Bucky. “Good of you to be here today,” observed the most deadly Avenger.

“Yeah well, I heard from FRIDAY that you were overseeing alone. I thought you could do with some back-up in case something unfortunate happens,” Tony replied, shrugging and likewise crossing his own arms over his chest while he observed the events in the adjacent room. “By the way, how are you getting along with translating the replica of the Winter Soldier notebook I sent you?”

About two weeks into Bucky’s regular BARF session schedule, Tony’d sent Natasha an encrypted, digital reproduction of HYDRA’s written record of how the Winter Soldier Program and its first Winter Soldier came to be with a request for her to translate the Russian parts of the notebook—which, as it turned out, was like nearly the _entirety_ of the damn thing. Tony’s Russian was rudimentary, at best, and since it was Natasha’s knowledge of the language and her unparalleled fighting skills that qualified her to be a part of the _Barnes Rehab Team_ in the first place, Tony thought she could do a better job of it. The last thing they needed now was a botched reverse engineering because of poor translation of the user’s manual, so to speak.

“I’m nearly done,” Natasha informed. “I would have wanted to continuously work on it and not take more than a couple weeks translating, but… It was a lot to take in, and it was hardly a bedtime story,” Natasha admitted, surprisingly looking almost nauseated or something close to that. She was a bad-ass former assassin-turned-spy who’d seen a fair number of horrible things in her long, illustrious career, and _even_ she seemed appalled by the notebook’s contents. “Do you really think you can de-program him, Tony? The process that created him was horribly complicated, bordering on _paranormal_ already. Do we have any idea about what we’re trying to accomplish?”

Though his personal and inter-personal relationships were all for shit and he still had no clue whatsoever as to how to deal with both Steve and Bucky and their travesty of a love triangle, _science_ was the one thing Tony had always been certain about. If Bucky would trust him, Tony was sure he could help the former HYDRA asset to recover.

But of course, there was still disquiet in his system despite his confidence. Bucky was not a machine, after all. He was a human being. A human being that had gotten himself past Tony Stark’s defenses to make Tony _care_ enough about him. Yes, Tony _did_ care about Bucky Barnes; against the inventor’s best intentions, the former assassin had weaseled his way into the small circle of people that Tony held in high regard. It might not have been enough for Tony to reciprocate Bucky’s feelings or for the former to indulge Steve’s request to have some kind of relationship with Bucky, but it was enough for Tony to want to help.

“If you think I’m not shit-assed terrified of the sheer difficulty and near impossibility of what we’re trying to accomplish, Romanoff, then you’d be wrong because I am,” admitted Tony. “But I really think I can help him. With your help— _all_ of you, we can get him better,” said Tony with as much conviction as he can muster. “Or I’ll die trying,” whispered Tony to himself. _Why_ he’d said that internal promise—and for whose benefit—he didn’t know, and he didn’t want to think about right now.

“I’ll have FRIDAY see how soon we can start with the reverse engineering proper. If the memories that the BARF generates are starting to become repetitive, we’re getting close to the more interesting part,” Tony told Natasha, but refusing to meet her eyes for his were still glued to the figure standing motionless before the BARF’s three panels. He, with his arms still crossed over his chest and almost lost in his own musings, kept a silent watch over the proceedings in the other room.

“It really is big of you to help Barnes like this after everything that’s happened, Tony,” Natasha commented, likewise keeping her gaze straight.

Tony saw it fit not to comment on that observation but just to keep silent, mindful of the footage that the three panels were showing them. Until that very moment, it remained flimsy to Tony who it really was he was doing this for: Steve, Bucky or himself?

When the BARF powered down and the lights in the BARF hall brightened to signal that the sessions were most likely done for the day, Tony shook himself into attention. He watched Bucky remove the nodes from his head and shift his weight from one foot to another in uncertainty. Twisting on his waist, their patient turned to steal a casual glance at the observation deck out of habit and gave a perceptible start when he noticed who had joined Natasha on oversight duty.

Tony noncommittally raised a hand in casual greeting and Bucky nodded in acknowledgment.

“I have to go ahead and relieve Sam on Command Center duty,” Natasha stated. “Are you staying behind? Because if you are, you might want to keep an eye on him.” Natasha cocked her head towards Bucky who was still lollygagging in the BARF hall for some unknown reason.

“Why?”

“BARF sessions always leave him… How shall I say it— _melancholy_ ,” the redhead supplied. “You’d do a better job of distracting him than I could.” Tony didn’t know why that struck a chord in him; he didn’t know what Natasha knew. Then again, Tony wouldn’t be surprised if Natasha actually knew everything about the sordid situation surrounding him, Bucky and Cap.

“Yeah. Sure,” Tony answered, recovering his wits and sounding almost breathlessly distracted in his assurance to Natasha.

“See you around, Tony,” was Natasha final word with a rare smile at the engineer she was leaving behind in the room. Tony knew it was a half-quip of sorts because the last time he had seen Natasha was the campfire karaoke on Steve’s birthday and that was close to a _fortnight_ ago. For people supposedly living together in the same house, that must be unprecedented.

“W—what are you doing here?” Bucky asked when they met each other in the hallway outside. “Were there any broken BARF machinery that they didn’t tell me about?”

That actually stung a bit. It was a jab at the fact that Tony was never in one of these sessions unless something had broken down. He had said so quite categorically to Steve and Bucky’s faces some time ago, and Bucky actually remembered it. “No, everything was working fine. But I actually saw Steve at SHIELD HQ as I was leaving and then I heard from FRIDAY that Natasha was overseeing alone and so I thought I’d go here and see what kind of support I could give, you know, in case something bad happened and you might need to be, um, _sung into submission_ or something,” Tony joked with a shrug.

When Bucky actually chortled at the joke, making a reference to Bucky’s habit of calming down to Tony’s singing voice, Tony found himself laughing, too. “So… What do you usually do after getting a thorough mindfuck like today?” The engineer changed the topic, stuffing both his hands in the back pocket of his denim jeans and shifting on the balls of his feet.

“Oh, you know, the usual—retreat into myself, host a pity party and drink and drown in my own tears,” Bucky answered with sass and pizazz that Tony should have learned by now to give him credit for. The former assassin could really give Tony a run for his money in the amused sarcasm department. “Why? You wanna join me?”

“Only if I’m not intruding on the pity party. The last thing I want is to be a kill-joy,” Tony said with a straight face and a gesture.

“Free country,” Bucky replied. “How do you feel about hanging out in the rooftop landing pad?”

“Fantastic. Lead the way,” invited Tony.

They talked about nothing in particular while walking from the medical to the residential building. They did discuss a bit about what Tony’s been doing in relation to his SHIELD consultancy.

“Yeah about that,” Tony began. “So I was in SHIELD this morning and before I left I kinda saw Steve getting cozy with Sharon Carter in the senior agents’ lounge. Do you know anything about that?” He didn’t mean to pry but he was just curious if Bucky knew anything about it. There was nothing wrong with being curious, right?

“Don’t tell me you’re _jealous_?” Bucky accused him with a mischievous smile and an elbow to Tony’s arm. Tony just looked at him in mock offense.

“N—no, I’m not. The hell are you talking about?” Tony evaded but felt his face heat up. Jesus, Tony Stark didn’t blush! He hadn’t blushed since—well—since _never_! Not even when he was on the brink of feeling something more than just fondness for Pepper. He had to remind himself that he was only feeling this way because of the other universe memories that Steve could still provoke in him—nothing more. It was only Tony’s misfortune that his husband shared the _same face and body_ as Steve but nothing more. But how was Tony supposed to explain that to his traitorous heart?

“Relax, I was just playing with you,” Bucky said, snickering and looking down, pensively, at his legs that were swinging off the edge of the rooftop landing pad. “Steve told me about running into her and I guess he was just interested to see how she was.”

“Then what’s really the score between you and Cap if he’s seen it fit to sidle up with the Carter woman? Here I was, thinking you’d see the good side of my advice and give your best friend the time of day.” Because Steve being with Bucky was something that Tony’s been training his emotions for. He was turning into a real Steve-Bucky shipper here, and if he were to watch Steve end up with someone else, he didn’t know what he was supposed to feel.

“You _also_ told me that my first priority should be my recovery, Tony—I can’t do both,” Bucky chastised him, gesturing exasperatedly. “And, besides, I kind of gave Steve a _different_ advice—even before I got yours. I can’t make a turn around on that and censure him for following what I’d told him to do in the first place.”

Realizing that he was being a colossal ass towards Bucky by discussing these things, knowing what they both knew about where Bucky’s affections really lay, Tony bit back the retort simmering in his throat and hung his head. “I’m really sorry, Buckaroo… I guess I’m just…frustrated. Wishing things could be simpler.”

“I don’t think we know what _simple_ means, the three of us,” Bucky joked again, but this time, a hint of bitterness that even _Tony_ could detect tainted his statement. “How are you really holding up, Tony? Like between the pressure of the SHIELD consultancy, making things for the Avengers and dealing with the other universe memories that you’re left with, how are you coping?"

“Do you really want to know or do you only want to be able to compare what I’ve deigned to tell Steve?”

Bucky flinched but recovered quickly, and said: “You do know that before anything else, I’m your friend. Right? You _do_ know that?” Bucky clasped his flesh hand with his cybernetic one on his lap. “Steve wants to help—I do, too. But we don’t know how. And we don’t know if you’d let us.”

A beat. “I’m thinking of going to Strange and asking him to wipe my memory of the other universe.”

“Why?”

“Because the person who’s here with me now is nothing like the person I’ve grown to love and yet every time I see him, all I keep thinking about is how much I want to be with Steve— _my_ Steve. So to put a stop to all this…longing, I try to avoid him—this person who has the same face as my husband.” When Bucky didn’t show surprise at the revelation, Tony plowed ahead. “But I can’t keep avoiding him because the truth is I’ve forgiven him for our conflict a long time ago—and now he knows it, that I’ve forgiven him, and he wants us to try being better friends—better people towards each other. I want to, too— _I want to try_. But how can I when every time I see him, I get all blushy and pained and I start feeling all of these inappropriate things I’m not supposed to feel?” Tony ranted, wringing his hands together.

It felt good to let it out. To tell someone what was upsetting him about the whole situation. He would’ve wanted to tell Rhodey about it but he was going to have to explain a whole load of crap to his friend—crap that he wasn’t prepared to relay to anyone. And that pretty much meant everyone else who didn’t know a damn thing was out. He couldn’t very well tell _Steve_ about this, because then the latter would know that Tony was fucking lying through his teeth when he said he was dealing with it. He supposed he could go to Strange to talk because the sorcerer knew about the whole ordeal, but Strange scared the bejeebers out of Tony sometimes. So that left Bucky…

Tony knew Bucky was going to humor him by listening because—well—Tony had something on Bucky. The genius didn’t want to abuse Bucky’s affections towards him, but he needed a listening ear. He needed a sounding board to bounce his ideas on. Because if there was nothing left for him to do to be able to function normally, then he may have to let go of his other-universe memories after all.

That option wasn’t exactly filling with warm fuzzies either.

“Well, as I see it, you have options here,” Bucky put forward with a thoughtful purse of his lips. “You can…keep avoiding Steve and hope that in time, you will forget about how he reminds you of another person who means the world to you. Maybe it’ll happen; maybe it won’t. In the meantime, your relationship with the rest of your family will suffer because you try to steer clear of him. And all that time, you stare at his face, follow his activities surreptitiously and always wonder if, apart from his eyes and his smile, there’s a shadow of your Steve in him…even just a little, just a bit…

“ _Or_ , on the flip side, you can go to Strange, have him take out all of your memories of your husband, just to give you that chance to be able to stare at Steve straight in the eye without thinking of someone else. You can give your friendship another chance, but you will have let go of the memories of feeling truly happy as you did when you were with your husband,” Bucky enumerated with a far-off look towards the line where the sky met the rolling hills.

“God, those options sound so fucking depressing,” groaned Tony, palming his face. “Why did I ever think that a traumatized, recovering amnesiac can help put perspective to this particular problem? I must be barking.”

A pause. “Actually, I think you may have _another option_ ,” Bucky started, stealing a sideways glance at Tony to see if he had the genius’ attention yet.

“I’m listening..."

“OK so you’re fairly convinced that Steve and your husband are completely different people, right?”

Tony nodded and said, “yeah they are. I mean for starters, my husband is in love with _me_ and not with someone else. No offense—“

“—none taken—“

This made Tony feel loads better that at least, he and Bucky could talk about this fairly straightforwardly, like the adults that they were, without skirting around the issue or sugarcoating anything. This only showed that he was actually relatively mature enough around Bucky and the latter was equally so.

“—and my husband has a wicked sense of humor; he’s caring and passionate, and he’s very showy with his emotions. Whereas Steve—well—he may have a good sense of humor, too, but it’s buried in mountains and mountains of brooding seriousness. He’s a stick-in-the-mud who takes himself too seriously for his own good and he’s very tightfisted about his feelings, I mean—before he came clean to you about his feelings, did you even have any idea that he was in love with you?”

“No,” Bucky grudgingly admitted with a roll of a shoulder.

“And how long had he kept that little darling of a secret from you, exactly?”

“Close to eighty years,” answered Bucky with a smirk. So things weren’t looking up for Steve in that aspect.

“See? Tightfisted about his feelings—well—either that or _you’re_ just that clueless… Again, no offense—“

“—still none taken,” Bucky chortled, crossing his lolling limbs at the shins.

“They’re very different people. As different as two people could be,” said Tony with conviction.

Nodding, Bucky continued, “do you have any other evidence to prove that they’re different? Any other traits or characteristics that they differ in?”

Tony grimaced, shaking his head. “Not that I know of.”

“O—K. So simply put, you just need more proof that they’re different from each other. The more differences you can find, the easier it’ll be to disassociate one from the other. Eventually, you will be able to look Steve in the eye without being blushy. And you don’t have to sacrifice your memories of your husband. It’s a win-win,” Bucky finished with a gesture of pride at his grand idea.

Tony tried to find fault in the logic but found that it was actually a good idea. “That’s actually not a bad idea,” he grudgingly admitted with a face scrunched in awe.

“I know I’m hardly a genius, but I’ve been known to get a few good ideas now and again,” said Bucky, proudly beaming.

“You don’t say, so—what now? What do I have to do?”

“Start hanging around him. You said he asked you for a chance to be better. Indulge him. It’s only when you start hanging out that his characteristics will show and you will be able to notice how different he really is from your husband. You have to have first-hand knowledge to be able to tell. As a man of science, you know what I’m talking about. You’d be hitting two birds with one stone, too. You get to find proof and you get to re-integrate yourself in your family. Like I said—win-win,” Bucky said, gesturing towards Tony self-importantly.

“You can start by joining us for Movie Night tomorrow,” followed Bucky up.

Tony pursed his lips, smoldered his brown eyes, considering the logic of the invitation before saying, “seems fair. OK. I’ll be there.” Tony got up with a heaving grunt from the floor of the landing pad and dusted his jeans for imaginary dirt. “So was I able to distract you from your pity party yet?”

Bucky grinned and nodded once, “you do have a way with employing mechanisms for effective distraction.”

Tony stood behind the still-seated former soldier and they watched the grass on the hillsides rippling with the wind in companionable silence before the genius-billionaire spoke again. “Will you be OK?”

“Yeah,” Bucky answered quietly. “Yeah—I’ll be OK. Thank you for hanging out with me, Tony.”

“Hey—keep it real, Soldier, OK?” Tony bent down and placed a comforting hand on Bucky’s flesh shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night, Bucky.”

“Good night, Tony.”

If Tony’d stayed on the landing pad half a second longer, he’d have seen Bucky turn his head and smile, one that was tainted with both sadness and contentment.


	26. 26. BUCKY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve, Bucky and Tony end up sitting next to each other on the love seat for Movie Night. Will Bucky's matchmaking prove itself successful?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another late upload. T_T I am really sorry for being late these past couple of updates. Real life is screwing me over. But no matter, I hope all will be forgiven with this new chapter. We are moving at a glacial pace again, I know, but in my defense, I want to be able to show that each of them have got their own matchmaking plans and we are only privy to Bucky's thus far. We have yet to see Steve's and Tony's own plans. 
> 
> WinterIron fans, in particular will love this one, I think. ^_^ I am only discovering how to stretch my WinterIron shipper legs, so please be gentle with me. Still unbeta-edited so if you spot issues, do let me know.
> 
> Thanks go to the insightful and fun and awesome bunch of regular commenters to this here story. You guys never fail to make me smile! You know who you are, and yeah, I MEAN YOU!!! ^_^ Love you, guys!
> 
> Also, remember my idea before for an interlude-slash-prequel-type chapter of what happened when Steve found out that Tony was in a coma? I decided that I'm gonna be able to do that after all as a regular chapter in Steve's POV, which incidentally, will be the next one (27th)! Yay! So we will see some of the events prior to the happenings of Chapter 1, and hopefully, Steve will get more people to root for him. ^_^
> 
> This is now officially the longest story I have ever written, longer even than WWW.STEM.ORG (my first in the MCU fandom and featuring the Stony ship). I still don't know if that fact gives this story an advantage or a downside (because it's getting hella-long!). I do hope you still haven't lost interest though... 
> 
> Enjoy the rest of your weekend, my lovelies, and ENJOY this chapter!  
> \---

****Bucky knew he should be happy that his plan was working. This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? He wanted Tony to be happy and for Steve to reestablish his friendship with Tony and maybe something _more_ than just friendship. Because if Bucky was not ready to reciprocate Steve’s love right now for a variety of reasons, Bucky sure as hell would look out for his best friend and make sure that the latter was not left hurting in the dirt. And if Tony thought he was still too conflicted and messed-up to return Bucky’s affections, then Bucky loved him enough to know not to push but to help his beloved resolve his inner conflict.

Tony and Steve. They were the two most important people in Bucky’s life right now. And the two of them together—they could really make each other happy. They could _complete_ each other, complement each other like no one else could. If they’d done that in one universe, why not here—in this one?

So, he’d hatched a plan to push Steve and Tony together without them noticing anything, and later’s Movie Night would be the first hurdle. He figured that the first thing he needed to make sure of was that Steve and Tony sat next to each other. Proximity was a sure-fire way to get them talking and associating with each other like the friends they were supposed to be.

Bucky wasn’t too afraid that Tony was really going to see enough traits differentiating Tony’s husband from Steve. In point of fact, the former Sergeant was quite confident that Tony was going to find that Steve was uncannily like his husband and fall even more in love with the person that the Captain was in this universe instead of just the _idea_ of him.

Both of them just needed a nudge towards the right direction.

Even though he knew how painful that was going to be for him—to watch someone he loved cozy it up to someone else on his own encouragement, Bucky steeled himself to endure it. This was how he was going to protect Tony, make him happy, make it up to him after the Winter Soldier had taken his parents from him, and that was paramount. Above and beyond even Bucky’s own happiness.

Besides, Bucky meant it when he said that he intended to focus on getting better. Maybe, when he was already a better Bucky, love might happen upon him again. And he would have already learned to live with the pain of having let Tony go, enough to give love another shot.

And if, right now, friendship was all that Tony had for him, he’d take it because Bucky was more interested in having Tony in his life in whatever capacity, than forcing himself on Tony when, in reality, neither of them were really prepared for any sort of romantic relationship: Bucky, because he was still fucked-up in the head and Tony, because he was still wary of trusting anew even in his long-time friends.

“FRIDAY, tonight’s Movie Night is a go, right?” Bucky asked with a bit of agitation. A part of him was excited to see his plan in action, and yet a part of him was restless if he could follow through on his initial strategy to nudge Tony and Steve into each other’s arms. But hey—he’d made his bed, now he was supposed to lie in it. He’d already planted the seeds to throw them together, he couldn’t get cold feet now.

“ _Yes Sergeant, tonight has been blocked off on everyone’s schedule as Movie Night. Even Dr. Strange will be attending,_ ” FRIDAY assured. “ _The pantry has been topped off on chips, dip, snacks and different kinds of soda._ ”

“Good to know,” said Bucky absent-mindedly. “Will you please remind Tony about it? He promised he was going."

“ _Mr. Stark has already directed me to remind him about Movie Night at 7 in the evening,_ ” confirmed the AI.

Bucky breathed an internal relieved sigh. At least, Tony was going to go through with his promise that he’d join them.

Since Bucky had been awakened in the custody of the Avengers, he’d never seen Tony join them for Movie Night or any of the recreation nights that Sam or Jim had organized. There were the times that one could count with one hand when Tony’d joined them for meals and, of course, there was the awesomely disastrous occasion that was Steve’s birthday. But apart from those, Tony mostly kept away from having to associate with them as a group, although the genius has been known to summon them individually to his lair once or twice for upgrades to their gear, and in Bucky’s case, adjustments to his prototype arm that had been the most often anyone of them were in Tony’s company—even for Jim and Peter.

Because of that, Bucky actually counted himself lucky that Tony had even deigned to let him come as close as he had. Well—that was _before_ Bucky had explosively come to realize that he was _in love with_ Tony… Now, he wasn’t so sure if he’d have welcomed the same chance to get to know the genius-billionaire. For one thing, he wouldn’t be in this shit-fest of a situation between Tony, Steve and himself if he’d just let Tony be instead of chasing his fascination and curiosity for the other brunette.

Still, he knew in the deepest part of his heart that if he were to live the last three months of his life again, he’d always choose to get to know Tony Stark the way he had, choose to end up feeling this bittersweet, pain-pleasure combo whenever he was around Tony, choose to protect, look out for and care about Tony. _Always_.

All he had to do now was to try not to agitate himself to a Winter Soldier episode or something while waiting for the movie to start. The last thing he wanted was a matchmaking-ruining incident on a rare occasion that Tony was hanging out with them.

At 6:15 in the evening, people started to congregate in the living area beginning with Sam and Scott, who were loudly discussing the results of some game or other with Sam supporting one team and Scott supporting the opposing one. They sounded like there was a healthy argument going on but it didn’t seem like it was getting out of hand enough to need an intervenor. Wanda and Natasha, trailed by Vision, Peter and Jim, came next. This recent group was talking about Wanda’s home-schooling under the tutelage of the other members of the team and the very recent conclusion of Peter’s academic year, which would mean that he could assist in Wanda’s home-schooling by being her unofficial lab partner for the summer. Steve and Stephen arrived last, their heads close together, presumably talking about more serious stuff than the two earlier groups.

Everyone preferred to loiter, mostly in the kitchen to gather foodstuffs, rather than claim their spots in front of the TV. Bags of chips changed hands; bottles of soda were passed around; those with the sweet tooth hunted down sweets; and all that time, private conversations and bantering didn’t stop. Sam, as far as Bucky could tell, was still heckling Scott’s team; Peter was still rattling off the science experiments that he and Wanda could really sink their teeth into; Natasha was still discussing politics with Jim; and Steve and Stephen kept muttering whatever it was they had been muttering about to themselves.

This was what Tony’s been missing—this _normalcy_ , this family-like interaction among these supposedly bad-ass superheroes who, in their downtime, were really just a bunch of nerds, currently fighting about which is better: Twinkies or Dingdongs? Coke or Pepsi? Potato chips or tortilla chips?

At a couple of minutes past seven, people started to settle down on their chosen perches on the armchairs and couches in front of the big-ass television. Bucky was already seated on the extreme right of the long couch as was his usual seat, expecting that Steve was going to sit right next to him as always. This was also part of the plan: to sit with Steve until Tony arrived, at which time, Bucky would stand up to go to the bathroom or to the kitchen to fetch drinks or something. Tony would be forced to take the only available seat beside Steve. And the hard part would have been over because as Bucky strategized, the first hurdle was establishing _proximity_.

But to his utmost surprise, Steve took the spot closest to the TV on the love seat, perpendicular to the long couch, with Sam automatically claiming the seat beside Steve. The two fell into easy conversation while Bucky glowered silently, realizing that this put a real damper on his plans to have Steve sit next to Tony.

“Think some of you, boys, can help us carry the bowls of popcorn, fries and veggie sticks?” Natasha called, which got Bucky, Steve and Sam scrambling off their seats to render assistance.

When it was time for them to retake their previous perches, Bucky damn near dived for the love seat spot beside Steve, beating Sam to it. He didn’t care that he looked suspiciously jumpy and overenthusiastic in the eyes of the others. He wanted that seat for Tony; and by God, he was going to have that seat for Tony.

“O—K, yeah—you _want_ that seat,” Sam grumbled, narrowing his eyes at Bucky and relinquishing any previous claims he may have over that particular patch of couch.

“You OK, Buck?” Steve asked, his eyes getting a concerned tinge to them.

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky answered, gathering himself back into a figure of quiet dignity. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I dunno,” Steve began with an uncertain shrug. “You just seem…jittery.”

“I, uh—my stomach ain’t feeling so good,” Bucky reasoned but shrugged dismissively. “Already took antacids, in case you were about to ask. I’ll be fine, Stevie. ‘Sides, it’s Movie Night. Been looking forward to Movie Night,” Bucky almost rambled. Realizing, though, that he _was_ beginning to ramble, Bucky put a stopper in it and bit his lips between his teeth.

Loud conversations dominated the living area as people claimed their respective spots. The long couch now held, from left to right, Sam, Scott, Natasha, Wanda, and Vision. The settee that flanked the glass center table on one side accommodated Stephen and Jim. The La-Z-Boy beside the settee, reclined as far as it could go, had Peter sprawled on it like a lazy cat. And the love seat on the other side of the center table seated Steve and Bucky.

“ _Captain, I would like to inform you that the pizza is at the door,_ ” FRIDAY respectfully announced, which got Steve shuffling his feet to stand up and collect the pizzas.

“No, no, I’ll—I can get that,” Bucky offered, getting on his feet, right behind Steve.

“It’s fine, Bucky. I got it,” Steve assured with a gesture of his hand to direct Bucky not to bother. “This week’s pizza’s on me anyway and I gotta leave the poor boy a tip for hauling a _dozen_ extra-large boxes this time.”

Tony arrived at the living area at about the same time that the pizza did.

“FRIDAY told me there was supposed to be a Movie Night tonight,” Tony started, exhibiting only a touch of awkwardness when Bucky knew for a fact that the other brunette was plenty uncertain of the rest of the team’s welcome. “Is it all right if I join you?”

“Do you really need our permission when you basically _own_ all of this—“ Sam began, gesturing towards the kick-ass home entertainment set-up before them, “—sweet, sweet set-up anyway?” This, Tony answered with a snort, before accepting the hand proffered by Stephen, a fist bump by Jim, a rare hug from Natasha and a slap on the shoulder courtesy of Sam.

Bucky indulged in a secret smile, watching Tony slowly rediscover his groove amongst his family. His worry was obviously misplaced as the team enfolded him within their ranks and banter as if no time had passed and no conflict between them had arisen.

Stealthily, Bucky also used that time to sneak a couple boxes of double bacon-cheeseburger pizza from the pile before plopping down on his perch on the love seat. He knew that it was the variety that Steve liked best, and the only way to ensure that Steve was going to sit where Bucky needed him to, was through the creative use of some kind of _bait_.

“This seat taken, soldier?” Bucky was taken out of his single-minded focus with that question. He looked up at Tony, blinking owlishly, at a loss for a lucid answer.

“No, no it’s not,” answered Bucky, seizing the reins on his happily skipping stomach. Because, for several glorious moments there, he’d convinced himself that, out of all of them, Tony had wanted to sit beside _him_. Not beside Jim or squished in between the ladies. But _beside Bucky_. The illusion lasted for about three heartbeats until Bucky remembered what he was supposed to be setting up for.

Once Tony had settled at the middle of the love seat, however, Bucky poured the pizza boxes on the genius’ lap along with a polite request, “can you hold these for me, please? I’m gonna have to go to the little boys’ room, just _one second_ …”

He dashed out of the living area as if hellhounds were at his heels, and, rounding what he’d once observed was a blind corner, turned to sneak a peek back at the scene he’d left behind. “Come on, Stevie. You know you want them pizzas. Sit beside Tony and come and get ‘em,” willed Bucky under his breath, craning his neck this way and that to try to see what Steve and Tony were getting up to.

With a low growl of impatience, Bucky turned on the balls of his feet again to actually head to the bathroom as was his excuse. There was no use watching Steve and Tony in their awkward dance around each other. He had to trust in the power of the double bacon-cheeseburger extra-large pizzas to get those two dunderheads sitting on the same damn couch.

When he got back to the TV room to find Steve and Tony sitting on the love seat next to each other, Bucky restrained himself from giving a silent whoop of victory. He didn’t care even if now, he was the one left with no place to sit. He could lie spread-eagled on the center table like a human tablecloth for all he cared. What mattered was that he’d achieved his goal.

 _Establishing proximity_ : crushed it.

He was just about to fold his legs underneath him in a lotus position on the floor in front of Scott and Natasha when Steve and Tony both voiced displeasure at the end game of the seating arrangements:

“—you’re not _seriously_ sitting there, are you, Buckaroo?—“

“—Bucky, what are you _doing_?—“

Tony scooted to his left to make room in the middle of the love seat. “It’s gonna be a tight fit but it’s gotta be better than sitting on the _floor_. Come on, Bucky—up and at ‘em,” the genius-billionaire cocked his head in invitation, patting the vacant patch of couch between Tony and Steve.

“Yeah, Buck—you can sit here with us,” Steve echoed Tony’s invitation with a small smile. If Steve’s caught on to what Bucky was trying to do, the former hasn’t demonstrated it yet. He still seemed clueless to Bucky’s matchmaking efforts.

“I ain’t sittin’ in the middle though,” interjected the former Sergeant. “I might have to get up often during the course of the movie for bathroom breaks or—or beer runs. You can take the middle, Tony,” Bucky offered, thinking up harebrained excuses that even to him sounded only a little bit better than bullshit.

“I thought you said your stomach’s acting up,” observed Steve, squinting at Bucky. “Should you be having beer at all?”

Bucky hated it when Steve was such an attentive prick when it came to details. “I meant _drinks_. Beer just happened to come in my mind first. So…who’s turn is it to pick a movie?” Bucky segued suddenly to get everyone’s attention off his peculiarities for the evening and just get to watching a damn movie already. He gingerly took a seat at the edge of the love seat closest to Sam and farthest from the TV, trying to make himself smaller so as not to crowd Tony who was seated closest to him, to his right.

“I think it’s Steve’s turn tonight,” Scott answered, leaning forward to grab a bowl of popcorn from the center table. “Remember—it’d been my pick last time? I’d been meaning to see that Star Wars spin-off and that’s the one we ended up watching. What’s it gonna be tonight, Cap?”

“I was thinking—maybe, we can watch _The Expendables_? That’s an action movie, right? I know you guys find it boring as drying paint when I pick artsy-fartsy film festival movies,” said Steve with but a hint of accusation in his tone.

There was a chorus of denials and reassurances that they didn’t mean any disrespect to the Cap whenever they found themselves nodding off to his more artsy-fartsy movie choices, while Bucky just snickered under his breath, and Tony just watched the exchange stoically. However, when no objections to the movie choice seemed forthcoming, FRIDAY saw it fit to cue the movie already and dim the lights.

Sneakily pawing a pizza slice from the boxes sat on his lap, Tony leaned closer to Bucky and whispered, “ _The Expendables_ , really? What—like there aren’t _better_ action movies out there? I haven’t been sitting here ten minutes and I already know he has awful, _awful_ taste in movies…” _‘So unlike my husband’_ was the unspoken part of that declaration, but Bucky heard that one, loud and obnoxious.

Tony’s warm breath against the shell of Bucky’s ear brought tingles down the latter’s spine, making goosebumps erupt on his entire right side. That gesture—and the reaction it wrought—completely came out of godfucking nowhere, shit!

He wanted to thump Steve at the back of his head, but to do that he’d have to reach past Tony, which he was sure the other brunette would notice. Steve was not supposed to prove Tony _right_! At the same time, Bucky also wanted to growl at his own body’s responses to Tony’s proximity. Didn’t he say he was letting this go because his recovery was going to be his top priority? If that was the case, Bucky had no business finding Tony’s closeness so…delicious.

But he found his every nerve ending attuned to the heat off Tony’s body, the occasional and inadvertent brush of skin against skin, the soft chuckles and snorts from the man with every clichéd dialogue or situation from the movie. Bucky knew it was taking every inch of Tony’s self-control not to criticize the movie too much. But everyone else’s funny and unique reactions to the unoriginal elements of the film goaded Tony into finally letting loose a scathing remark of his:

“Aaaaaand strike a macho pose,” Tony said with a snort. “As if their lives aren’t all in danger from being snuffed out. Really? _The smolder_ , really? Haven’t they got the memo yet that none of them look all that sexy anymore doing that?” Tony blew a quite audible raspberry and chortled rudely. He offered a bowl of popcorn toward Bucky, which the latter only thankfully plucked a few kernels from.

Bucky didn’t miss the quirking to the corners of Steve’s lips in amusement at Tony’s irascible comment. The dimness of the living area couldn’t hide the contentment and pleasure on Steve’s face, which, Bucky was ready to bet all his worldly possessions on, was because of Tony’s presence.

Without the pizza boxes on Tony’s lap, which Steve only gratefully took off his hands and practically inhaled one slice after another, the genius was now more free to shift where he sat, cross and uncross his legs, tuck a leg under the other, or spread his legs. Tony was like a hyperactive child: he was restless and was in constant motion as if staying put and keeping his limbs motionless would kill him or something. He liked bugging Bucky, too—poking him at the side, tapping sock-clad toes against his thigh, knocking a knee against his leg. Tony, noticeably left Steve alone and relatively undisturbed while the three of them sat on that love seat but it was Bucky that Tony kept on bugging.

It wasn’t that the bugging annoyed Bucky, no. In fact, Bucky grew all the more fond of the other brunette. He already knew that Tony liked to be in motion a lot; he’d seen enough of that whenever he observed Tony in his workshop, but seeing the genius-billionaire like this, so comfortable in the midst of his family, pleased Bucky to no end. This was where Tony belonged. And although he’d like to keep thinking that Tony belonged with him, too, he couldn’t.

Because while Tony left Steve relatively alone and undisturbed, Bucky couldn’t help but notice Tony stealing a glance at Steve once or twice with a look—a look that Bucky couldn’t quite define but he, at least, could recognize that there was a hint of longing there. He didn’t know what Tony was doing to convince himself that he didn’t feel anything for Steve but confused feelings planted by a doppelganger from another dimension, but whatever that was, it was a fuckload of lies.

Bucky got up at one time to go to the bathroom just to keep up the ruse of having an unsettled stomach, but he just splashed water on his face and tried to get hold of the feeling of his insides being wrung like dripping laundry. What _was_ wrong with him? Had he not already resolved not to keep stoking the fire of his own attraction towards Tony? Then how was he supposed to explain this sudden bout of self-loathing that he was giving this up too easily?

Why had it never been an option to fight tooth and nail to earn Tony’s affections himself? Had Steve not told him once that no matter how messed up he was he still deserved to love and be loved in return?

“Because you’re not the person Tony needs right now,” Bucky told his reflection off. “You can fight for him all you want when you’re no longer afraid of your own mind and of what kind of violence you know you’re capable of.” The image of Tony bleeding to death at his feet and Bucky’s flesh arm dripping with Tony’s blood wormed its way behind the former HYDRA asset’s eyelids and he shook his head once with such force that it caused whiplash. If Tony somehow got hurt because Bucky could barely control the Winter Soldier, he would never forgive himself. He would blow his own head off if it ever came to that because there was no way he would ever be able to live with himself if Tony got hurt because of him.

And this was why he would sooner see Tony with Steve than fight for Tony himself. There was always that illusion that maybe…someday…when he would’ve already had a handle on how HYDRA’d fucked him over—maybe then, he could allow himself to love Tony again and fight to have Tony’s love back.

Then again, maybe it would’ve already been too late and Tony and Steve would be together and Bucky would be well and healthy but achingly alone. That was always a possibility, yes. But right now, _it wasn’t about him_.

By the time that Bucky returned, the movie had already crossed the halfway mark and there were actually less clichés and more action. Bucky, like Steve and Tony, settled more comfortably on the love seat by leaning firmly against the backrest. Steve was still demolishing what was left of his pizza while Bucky had the popcorn bowl on his lap in case Tony wanted to get more from it.

When Tony was uncharacteristically motionless for the most part since Bucky returned from the bathroom, the latter turned towards the genius to ask him if he was feeling all right only to find Tony beginning to nod off with his eyes closed and breathing evenly, asleep.

Bucky didn’t say anything and just let Tony catch up on some rest. He found it amusing that Tony found the action movie boring enough to fall asleep right in the middle of it. He watched Tony sleep in the dimness of the living area, in the midst of the play of light and shadow of the explosions on the TV screen, and Bucky couldn’t help but be mesmerized that he had to tear his gaze away from the other brunette in fear that someone was going to notice that he was more interested in watching Tony sleep than watching the movie.

But he was pleasantly surprised, warmth settling in the pit of his stomach, when Tony’s nodding head lolled limply to rest against Bucky’s flesh shoulder. And actually stayed there.

He let himself bask in the warmth of Tony’s pliant body flush close against his right arm, Tony’s head against his shoulder, and the genius’ hair tickling the side of Bucky’s face and jaw. He fought his better judgment and leaned his head against the top of Tony’s, closing his eyes in a rare moment of letting himself be reminded of his strong feelings for this man sleeping beside him.

Bucky may have told himself that he wasn’t the man that Tony needed right now, but that didn’t mean he was going to fight this feeling away. Like he’d convinced himself, if being a friend was the only way he could keep Tony in his life, he’d gladly take it. And if these rare moments were all he was going to have with Tony, he’d gladly take them, too.

He was brought back to reality when he looked up from the top of Tony’s head to meet Steve’s knowing eyes, staring at him. He was reminded again of the sordid situation the three of them were in and he snorted derisively under his breath. How apt that they’d find themselves sitting on this here _love seat_ like fate was being particularly vindictive without doing away with a wry sense of humor.

Knowing that the moment was now over, the former Sergeant lightly signaled towards Steve that Tony’d fallen asleep but that he needed to go to the bathroom again. He really didn’t want to have to wake Tony up because goodness knew the other brunette needed the break from his engineering binges that every one of them there knew Tony was wont to do.

The two super soldiers maneuvered themselves and Tony’s deeply asleep form so that the latter could lean against Steve’s shoulder instead, freeing Bucky so he could go to the bathroom.

Bucky dawdled anew in the bathroom, counting silently to himself before heading out again to putter around the kitchen and kill time.

“I asked Cap if he’d be kind enough to take Tony to his room. That ass needs the sleep,” Jim informed when he and Sam took the Movie Night debris to the kitchen and caught Bucky there who was taking his sweet time putting together a cup of tea. “You sure you’ll be all right? Stomach still acting up?” Jim asked while he loaded the dishwasher.

“Nothing that a nice cup of warm tea couldn’t fix. Probably ate something that doesn’t sit well in my stomach. But I’m sure this’ll be right as rain by tomorrow,” assured Bucky, thanking the gods that he’d always been a better liar than Steve.

He helped Sam and Jim put the rest of the utensils and leftovers away to keep his mind and hands occupied so he didn’t have that much opportunity to be inundated by his thoughts before following on their heels to trudge up the stairs to his bedroom and turn in for the night. Jim was the first to reach his bedroom that was closest to the stairs; Sam parted ways with them there because his bedroom was on the wing opposite to Bucky’s.

Bucky was about to open the door to his own bedroom when he saw light shining from the open door of another bedroom farther down the hallway: Tony’s.

Had Tony awakened, after Steve brought him to his room, to keep working on something on his tablet maybe? Or perhaps Steve was still there making sure that Tony wasn’t going to try to make a run back to the workshop to burn the midnight oil?

Beyond curious, Bucky shuffled away from his own room and towards the open bedroom door to see if any of his guesses were correct. He was arrested with the sight of Steve sitting off the side of Tony’s bed and watching the genius sleep. There was a thoughtful but gentle expression on Bucky’s best friend’s face. He didn’t seem like he was aware that Bucky was watching him.

“You OK, Stevie?” Bucky asked, breaking into the Steve’s deep thoughts. He didn’t enter the room but just kept to the threshold, leaning his flesh shoulder against the door jamb.

Coming out of his reverie, Steve turned to look at Bucky and smiled softly. “Yeah—yeah, I’m OK. It’s just…seeing him like this suddenly reminded me of the time when I moved back to the facility because I got the news that something had happened to him. You see, it’s a rare occasion for Tony Stark to look this calm and vulnerable. You’ve already probably noticed that he’s always in motion, always with a hundred thoughts running through his head all at once. I’ve known him over five years now and I’ve only ever seen him like this twice—both times he’d been close to death. Neither of which I was all that prepared to see,” Steve narrated, eyes on Tony’s sleeping figure and lost in his memories.

“This was the first time Tony’s ever joined us for Movie Night in _nine months_. I don’t know how I know and you’ll probably deny it, but I _know_ that he was there tonight because of you,” Steve continued, stealing a glance back at Bucky.

“Yes, _I_ may have mentioned Movie Night to him,” admitted Bucky with nothing but earnestness. “I invited him, but I’d like to think that wasn’t the only reason he decided to go. You probably knew this about him before I did, but no one forces Tony Stark to do something he doesn’t want to do. And he went to Movie Night tonight not because I asked him to, but because he _wanted_ to.”

“He said he’s already forgiven me,” Steve relayed to his friend.

“He’d told me something about that. He also told me you asked him for a chance.”

“It’s good that he confides in you. That means he feels comfortable enough with you,” Steve said with a gentle and genuine smile. “You’re good for him; he’s good for you, too.”

“I’m not the person he needs right now,” interjected Bucky, swallowing any latent misgivings he still had. “Besides, _you_ can be good for him, too, Stevie.

“You asked him for a chance and I think that’s exactly what this is all about. He was there for Movie Night because he wanted you to have that chance, too,” Bucky said, finally stepping over the threshold to stand by Tony’s bedside and watch the other brunette slumbering, too. Steve was right. Tony looked so vulnerable that he actually seemed younger, less troubled, more peaceful.

Was he perhaps dreaming of his other life?

“Don’t waste it, Stevie,” Bucky pleaded. Not only because he didn’t want to have to see Tony hurt by Steve again, but because in his heart of hearts, he knew that Tony could be exactly what Steve needed to forget about him—forget about Bucky.

“I don’t intend to,” resolutely answered the Captain, watching Tony’s calm façade again. “I _will_ be a better friend to him, Bucky.”

“Good,” Bucky said, breathing deeply to keep the lump in his throat from getting any bigger. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He turned to leave the room but not before Steve seized him by the wrist, stopping him in his tracks.

“Buck, do you think—“ Steve began but hesitated. Blue eyes met gray-blue ones as Bucky waited for Steve to say what he was going to say. He felt the muscles in his flesh arm tense in anticipation, willing Steve not to say what Bucky was half-afraid his friend was thinking of blurting out:

_Do you think we have a chance, too, you and I?_

“—nothing. For—forget it,” Steve said, letting go of Bucky’s flesh wrist. “Good night, Bucky.” Bucky didn’t have a chance to read more into those familiar blue eyes because Steve kept his downcast and turned towards Tony, lying motionless on his bed.

There! In that very tableau of Steve fondly watching Tony sleep, Bucky could almost convince himself that the blonde was actually not far from realizing that he could feel for the genius-billionaire what he thought he’d always felt for his best friend. Tony was already one of the most important people in Steve’s life; Bucky could tell. With time and the right set of circumstances, Steve could very well fall in love with Tony, too.

“You too, Stevie.”

Leaving a sleeping Tony and a silent Steve behind, Bucky, for the first time since he’s hatched his plan to bring those two together, sent a silent prayer to the cosmos and to the god that his Ma used to believe in and pray to: _I hope I’m doing the right thing. Please, don’t make me regret this in the end…_

But, of course, there was already that nagging feeling—like a splinter in his mind—that a part of him, in fact, already did.


	27. 27. STEVE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find out what happened before Tony snapped out of the coma from Steve's perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, I've got one a one-day delay but I hope all will be forgiven. I present the prequel chapter as promised, told from Steve's POV. So I haven't read through this for initial editing so expect errors. This is hot off the press, but I intend to read after running some errands, plus my internet connection is SHIT!!!
> 
> Anyway, let me know if this had endeared Steve to you yet. Let me know of any errors and issues so that they may be resolved. Thanks to the regular commenters and readers--I ADORE YOU GUYS!!! I would still like to keep picking your brains so just hit me up in the comments, K?
> 
> Heed the 'questionable science' tag as this may feature questionable medical science. please give me the benefit of the doubt. ^_^ But let me know if anything is too unpalatable or too unlikely/impossible medically.
> 
> Memories in semi-chronological order and in _italics_.
> 
> Enjoy the rest of the weekend, you guys! And ENJOY this installment!  
> \---

****Steve wasn’t aware of any time passing as he stayed at Tony’s bedside, staring at the latter while he slept. If someone were to walk by, they’d probably think it was damn creepy for him to be staring intently at Tony’s slumbering figure. But since Bucky’s left and with Tony remaining blissfully out of it, no one was around to keep tabs on the Captain’s current activity.

In contrast to the other times that Steve had seen Tony like this—out for the count, this was, by far, the most reassuring because he knew that the brunette was only deeply asleep instead of nearly dead.  The Captain could still vaguely remember the time after the Battle of New York when they’d all thought Tony’d died after flying a nuke through the wormhole opened by the Tesseract and the time that Tony fell into a three month-long coma after the attack of the intergalactic herd of deer, and Steve felt his insides constrict. He didn’t think it would ever get any easier to see a friend like that and know that you were helpless to do anything about it.

After what had happened in Siberia, Steve never thought he’d ever see Tony lower his guard like this around him. Not that the brunette had any idea that Steve would be the one tasked to bring him back to his room or that Steve was now spending what was left of his evening watching the other man sleep. But for Tony to even feel remotely safe enough to fall asleep while sitting _between Steve and Bucky_ had to have been some kind of extraordinary occurrence. Steve liked to think it was because Tony was beginning to consider them his family. Or at the very least, it was some sort of _sign_ that the genius-billionaire has truly forgiven him, unlike before, when Tony only ever associated with Steve out of expediency, pity, or constraint.

When Tony was like this, he really was quite different from how he usually was. He looked younger, carefree, serene… His lips were slightly parted and his cheeks were dusted with the shadow thrown by his long and thick eyelashes in the pale-yellow light of his bedside lamp. Steve had long since matched his own breaths to the rise and fall of Tony’s chest, much like what he used to do on his endless vigils by the genius-billionaire’s sick bed during his coma.

For, of course, it wasn’t only Bucky who’d gotten that kind of Steve Rogers treatment. Tony too, although no one else but FRIDAY probably knew about that. And if anyone else _did_ know about it, they’d probably just chalk it up to the Captain’s immense guilt for abandoning his friend or something.

They’d be partly correct, too. But only _partly_. Because part of the reason that Steve stayed by Tony’s side was because he cared deeply for Tony, and he wanted to lend what little stubbornness he had for Tony to open his eyes, yell at Steve, and just… _be alive_ , be right as rain, be the Tony that Steve had grudgingly grown to admire, and not the shell of a man who might never wake up again.

So, upon his return to the Avengers facility, Steve had stayed by Tony’s bedside as often and for as long as he could. And when Tony’d finally woken up, indifferent and distant, Steve stayed, still, to patiently chase after and wait for forgiveness that he wasn’t sure was forthcoming and for family that he never stopped believing they have a shot at.

Although his methods were questionable, because he simply didn’t think forcing Tony into anything was the way to go, Steve remained stalwart in silence that, one way or another, his stubbornness was going to wear Tony down and they would end up talking about the difficult things and they would find a starting point where they could pick up the pieces. The key was not to give up. On Tony, on putting his family back together, on _anything_. And after the Sokovia Accords and Siberia, Steve was not inclined to. He’d given up on Tony and his family that time, he wasn’t stupid enough to make the same mistake twice in his lifetime.

Steve breathed a deep sigh and reached out towards Tony, intending to brush strands of dark hair that had fallen over the sleeping man’s forehead. But before the Captain’s fingertips could make contact with anything, he stopped, closed his hand into a loose fist and just let it hover over Tony for a moment before pulling his hand back.

What was he still doing here?

Oh yeah—he was still there, watching Tony sleep like a grade-A creep because he wanted to stretch this night for as long as he could. He wanted to stretch every interaction with Tony for as long as he could because they were so _rare_. Because he didn’t know if Tony was going to shut him out again after. He had to hope, though, that this time would be different. That this time, they were really on the way to healing.

Steve stayed, watching Tony sleep, until the latter turned in bed to lie on his other side, facing away from where the blonde sat. The observer was jolted out of his thoughtful reverie then and gingerly stood up to leave the sleeper be for the rest of the night.

There was going to be another time, another chance—another Movie Night or team activity to spend with Tony. He just had to keep believing that, this time, Tony really meant to give Steve a chance to make it up to him. “Good night, Tony. Talk to you tomorrow,” the blonde murmured for the ears of the only other occupant in the room who was otherwise unresponsive and turned to leave, pulling Tony’s bedroom door closed behind him.

Passing by Bucky’s closed bedroom door on the way to his own quarters, Steve momentarily paused and strained his extra-sensitive hearing to try to detect if Bucky might still be restlessly awake, immersed in his thoughts just like Steve was.

Goodness knew their ‘situation’ was as damn peculiar as any situation between three people could get, and Steve was willing to bet that having them squeezed in one love seat caused Bucky a certain amount of unease also, given what Steve knew about how his best friend felt. There was no way that Tony’s proximity didn’t affect Bucky in the same way that the latter’s proximity didn’t affect Steve.

Perhaps things would’ve been better if none of them had ever found out what they all felt for each other—if Bucky never found out how Steve felt, if Tony had never found out how Bucky felt, and if Steve had never found out how Tony felt. Then, all they’d have to concern themselves with were Steve’s crusade for Tony’s forgiveness, Bucky’s recovery from the HYDRA programming and Tony’s readjustment from his interdimensional travel.

Realizing, though, that, in reality, those concerns were closely tied with their feelings and there was actually no way that they could’ve avoided their present state of affairs, Steve hung his head and kept on stepping, convinced that if Bucky were indeed awake and just as on edge inside his own room, he was pretty good at hiding it.

Once in the seclusion of his own quarters, Steve sat straight-backed on the edge of his bed with his hands on his lap. He couldn’t understand why, instead of feeling satisfied that he’d spent an awesome night with his family, he was filled with disquiet. Did it have something to do with the sad longing that tainted Bucky’s eyes while Tony slept on his shoulder? Did it have something to do with the squeezing of his own insides when he saw how Bucky looked at Tony and how Tony seemed to be so comfortable with Bucky? Did it have something to do with how Tony went out of his way not to look at Steve only to look at him with pain once or twice when he thought Steve wouldn’t notice?

He’d sat with the two most important people in his life without any of them coming close to getting what it was they most want in the world, so yeah—for Steve that spelled a sleepless night, all right.

Resigned to sleeplessness, Steve stood up again to look for some tape he might have stashed in his bedroom drawers. He’d tape his hands, go to the training room, slip on some gloves and work up a sweat, punching a heavy bag until the bag broke or his knuckles bled, whichever came first. He pulled open and pushed closed one drawer after another, fishing through gaps in the folded items of his clothing, rummaging through various bric-a-brac he had a habit of hoarding and then completely forgetting about.

At the bottommost drawer of an armoire pushed against the farthest wall from the bed, Steve happened to fish out something he’d unconsciously packed with him that day he left Wakanda to go back home. He must have been that out of it not to realize he’d carted it along:     

It was the twin of the burner phone that he’d sent Tony through courier along with the letter of apology that, now Steve was ashamed to acknowledge, had been a shit thing to do when Tony had deserved no less than a personal apology for having held back on what he knew. So what if it was only his instinct that told him that the Winter Soldier might have been responsible for the Starks’ deaths, the fact that he _knew_ that Tony’s parents were murdered by HYDRA should have made him disclose that to his friend at the soonest opportunity.

But the fact that _Bucky_ might have been involved made Steve choose the welfare of one friend over another.

Then, he had the absolute gall to apologize through a crappy letter and the provision of a burner phone. No wonder Tony held a grudge for as long as he did…

Why had he kept this thing instead of chucking it to the ocean at the first instance?

Ah… Because it was a reminder that there were always things, abstractions, ideologies… _people_ worth compromising for.

Because it would be easy to stand tall and firm like a tree. Until a forest fire starts. And everything—and everyone—you once held dear could be gone, razed to the ground. All because you couldn’t draw the line between being obstinate and being pigheaded.

He remembered how he took to carrying the blasted thing around in his pocket the entire time he was in Wakanda, subconsciously hoping, and at the same time, dreading to hear it ring with a call or text from Tony. He kept it charged and ready in case Tony called. Only he never did. Didn’t mean the phone was never used, though…

The batteries to the thing had long since died, but not the lessons it taught Steve and the memories it held. Steve breathed a deep sigh, clutching the burner phone like a lifeline as he let the memories wash over him.

_It had already been almost a month since Bucky’d decided to go under again, and Steve passed the time, an excessive amount of which he suddenly found in his hands, alternating between watching Bucky’s still form and the monitors where his vital signs flashed, and holing up in the reading room with a tablet in his hands where he could watch the news._

_After obsessing over, planning and finally executing the jailbreak of the rest of the guys from The Raft, there was nothing for Steve to do to occupy his time and his attention. And with Bucky out of it, Steve felt like he had just woken up from the ice all over again._

_The rest of the team had given up on asking him about the circumstances that went down after Bucky and Steve escaped federal detention by the skin of their teeth to go to where the other Winter Soldiers were being kept on ice. The Captain was very evasive, at best, when it came to giving any details especially to Sam who had known that Tony intended to follow them to Siberia. All he had the face to tell the team was that Siberia had been a trap—they got played by someone looking to avenge what happened in Sokovia by pitting them against each other, counting on Tony’s need to avenge the assassination of his parents by a brainwashed Bucky and Steve’s nature to protect an innocent, and his best friend in the whole wide world, to boot, from the youngest Stark’s wrath._

_He couldn’t make himself tell them that he’d known for a while now that HYDRA had had Tony’s parents killed and he’d had his suspicions that it was Bucky who did it, only he’d kept it a secret from Tony. Like the damn bloody coward that he really was._

_So they kept on skirting around the issue; Steve kept mostly to himself; and the rest of the team, after gaining a semblance of freedom, took to the sights and culture of their current host country, Wakanda, the monarch of which was magnanimous enough to house them from the rest of the world who were calling out for their blood._

_Not that their blood was the only thing the hellhounds were after, but with Helmut Zemo’s involvement and arrest and the fact that Thaddeus Ross knew but refused to heed advice about the possibility that there was another player tugging on all their strings like a puppeteer, Secretary Ross’ blood was also looking mighty tasty to the hounds. Top it off with the Avengers’ escape from The Raft and Tony Stark’s abject refusal to cooperate with him unless the Sokovia Accords underwent a major overhaul, Steve’s been hearing from the news that Ross was spending more time in formal inquiries than at home nowadays._

_If the Secretary wasn’t careful he was going to bust another artery. Steve could only wish. He did have all the time in the world to spend on wishful thinking recently…_

_That, and watching the news. Because it was only in the news that he got to see how Tony was. Steve wondered if Tony had already gotten his FedEx-ed package yet. He hoped Tony at least read the letter once before throwing it away. Could he have kept the disposable phone that Steve included in the package? Would he ever use it to call Steve? Would_ Steve _ever use it to call Tony to tell him what Steve was only brave enough to put into words on paper?_

_After spending his morning looking in on Bucky at the laboratory, Steve was now sitting quietly on a corner table in the reading room with an open book in front of him on the table, facedown and forgotten, and a tablet in his hands which he was using to scroll through video feeds of Stark Industries press conferences, cellphone video uploads of recent sightings of Iron Man—some of which were with Spider-Man, various inquiries and appearances linked to the push for amendments to the Sokovia Accords. In all of these videos, Tony looked every inch like the self-assured tech magnate that Steve remembered, except for the subtle changes that Steve wasn’t sure anyone else could notice._

_Steve Rogers was far from being the authority on Tony Stark, unlike Rhodes or Ms. Potts, both of whom had known the genius-billionaire longer than Steve has, but what the Captain didn’t have in that aspect, he more than made up for in keen observation. And based on his observation, Tony seemed exhausted, like he wasn’t getting enough sleep—well, even_ less _sleep than he was accustomed to, and he was losing weight, which means he wasn’t eating properly, too._

 _Granted, Tony had never been overly concerned about his health and well-being through proper sleep and a balanced diet, but Steve had never been_ not _concerned about the genius’ disregard for his own welfare. He never mother-henned Tony, as far as he could remember, because the latter alternated between the old Stark Mansion in midtown and the re-christened Stark Tower, while the rest of the team stayed in the facility, but at least Tony had Pepper then. Steve, though, more than made up for his lack of mother-henning whenever Tony was in the facility by playing Twenty Questions with the genius._

_“When was the last time you ate a square meal, Stark?”_

_“Can you even remember the last time you slept?”_

_“You look like utter crap, Tony. There’s such a thing as_ sleep _, tried it recently?”_

 _“Spaghetti. Food—you know_ food _? Ringing any bells?”_

 _And Tony would always wave Steve off with a dismissive gesture before saying: “sleep is for the indolent—d’you know how much Einstein slept his whole life? And, yeah, I just ate. I eat all the time._ Coffee _is its own food group anyway or haven’t you heard, Cap?”_

_The last thing Steve thought he was going to miss about Tony was actually the first thing he missed: Tony’s sarcasm. Because closely linked to the man’s sarcasm was his good-natured humor and infectious smile, which Steve only realized he missed, like a man adrift at sea misses land, now that he rarely got to see it in the handful of news footage he could scour on the internet._

_It wasn’t only current video footage Steve liked to go to town with. Sometimes, he would revisit old footage of the entire team together—during some SI benefit for the Battle of NY survivors, or impromptu volunteer work at a local soup kitchen, which the local news team just happened to scoop, when they were all still staying in the Avengers Tower, or shaky footage from some cellphone camera during the Battle of NY. There weren’t that many of them, and Steve regretted that. They should’ve had more keepsakes of the memories they spent as a team—as a_ family _._

_But he made do with what was available to him. This was the only way for him to convince himself that the family he’d left behind was still there, that there would come a time that they would all be reunited, stronger than ever._

_He pressed a key to replay the video he was watching for the nth time. It was one of Tony, an excerpt of him making some kind of presentation at a United Nations Security Council meeting on the matter of peacebuilding and maintaining peace, where a part of his speech broached the idea of the amendments to the Sokovia Accords. It was not a matter to be put to a Security Council vote but it was a start to officially present the possibility of revisiting the Sokovia Accords to the member-states. It was enough to plant the seed for some kind of compromise between the United Nations on the one hand and the Avengers in the other._

_“Your friends are out participating in the celebration of the Tiundu Festival and yet you remain here, Captain. I am beginning to doubt the appeal of my country when there seems to be nothing out there that captures the interest of Captain America,” the powerful voice of Wakanda’s young monarch tore Steve’s attention from the video he had been watching again and again. The Wakandan King looked sharp in a dark suit accented with a deep red tie and vibranium cufflinks of no doubt top-caliber Wakandan artistry._

_“I’m sure Wakanda is a beautiful country. It’s just that I’ve always been an introvert, Your Highness. I mean no disrespect when I prefer the indoors,” Steve replied, abashed that King T’Challa had noticed his disinterest to explore. “I see you’re missing the Tiundu celebrations as well.”_

_“I’m afraid I’m going to have to miss the celebrations for now. My neighboring countries and allies have called for a meeting to listen to your friend discuss his proposal to avoid the pitfalls of the Sokovia Accords through the introduction of amendments to it.”_

_“My friend? You mean_ Tony _? You will meet with Tony?”_

_A pause._

_“Has he tried to make contact with you through the phone for which you needed help from my technicians?”_

_Steve gently shook his head, feeling a sad smile blossom on his face._

_“Have you?”_

_“I still don’t know the words to use to ask for his forgiveness,” Steve replied._

_Another pause before T’Challa reassuringly gave Steve’s shoulder a single pat. “I know why you don’t seem to find anything out there the least bit interesting, Captain. It’s because everything you hold dear is either in the laboratory or in that tablet, both of which are, right now, far from your reach. But it won’t always be so.”_

_Steve gulped, guilty as the King charged. “I sure hope you’re right, Your Highness.”_

_“Would you like me to tell your friend a message?” The King offered._

_“I thought we’ve established that no one was supposed to know you’re harboring internationally-wanted fugitives in your jurisdiction?” Steve smiled, uncertain and quizzical._

_“He doesn’t need to be apprised of the_ source _of the message,” the King replied, checking and re-checking the state of his suit lapels._

_“Please tell him that he’s getting too thin. If he’s not careful, the media might suspect he was gravely ill or something,” interjected Steve, accepting the monarch’s offer to pass along a message. “Maybe he won’t resent it too much coming from a world leader.” Steve could almost imagine the look on Tony’s face once T’Challa dared to point out how much weight he was losing and fought off a smile._

_“Somehow, I doubt that very much, Captain,” T’Challa sportingly said before taking his leave. “But, rest assured, I will make your concerns known to your friend.”_

_============_

_He shifted from one foot to another while he stood like a quiet sentinel on the other side of the glass as he looked upon the interior of the laboratory where Bucky’s cryopod rested like a hulking monument at the very heart of the room, surrounded by flashing computer screens and blinking vital signs monitors. From this angle, Steve could hardly make out Bucky’s face through the misting glass of the cryopod, but he came back every day anyway. This was the only way he could still feel remotely connected to his best friend; he didn’t need to be able to see clearly into the cryopod._

_His days bled into each other, making today indistinguishable from yesterday. Mondays were no different from Fridays. Had it been another nine weeks since the Tiundu Festival?_

_He was in his quiet vigil when something in his pocket started ringing shrilly. He almost didn’t recognize the sound as the twin of the burner phone he had sent to Tony. Tony was calling the phone._ Tony was calling Steve _. After almost fourteen weeks since the events of Siberia, here was Tony reaching out to Steve. The latter couldn’t have scrambled to answer the phone fast enough._

_“Tony?”_

_Static._

_“Tony… Can you hear me? Tony, hello?”_

_“Steve, hello?” It wasn’t Tony. It was_ Natasha Romanoff _at the other end of the phone line._

 _“Nat? Ho—how did you know to contact me through this number?” Not that Steve didn’t want to hear from her. It was just that Steve really had his hopes up that it was_ Tony _calling him, even though Steve still didn’t know jack how to apologize to the genius-billionaire._

_“Short of hacking into FRIDAY and skirting around her protocols—with immense difficulty,” Natasha answered, voice sounding tinny through the crappy connection of the burner phone._

_Couldn’t she have just asked Tony? “I suppose Tony wanted to forget receiving this phone at all…”_

_“It’s not that, Steve,” Natasha denied, “it’s just that… I deduced that there had to have been some kind of line of communication where Tony can reach you and you can reach Tony. I’ve had to guess about the existence of this burner phone. I needed to talk to you… It’s about Tony.” She wavered long enough for Steve’s sharp senses to pick up on the hesitation._

_A beat. Cold trepidation trickled down the groove of Steve’s spine. “Nat? What’s the matter? What about Tony?”_

_“There’s been an accident, Steve,” Nat said, being extra careful with how she worded the information she was providing. “Tony—he’s…”_

Please God, something bad couldn’t have happened to Tony, could it? _Steve couldn’t help but try to forcefully push breath out of his lungs. “What happened to Tony, Nat? What happened to him?”_

_A shaky breath. “Tony’s in a coma, Steve. He’s been in one for almost two months now.” To Steve, Nat’s voice was beginning to sound as if it was coming from the bottom of a well. “He’s stable…ish. And it’s up to Rhodey to give any medical consent to take him off life support, which I know he’s not going to—he’s not going to give up on his best friend. But Tony’s deteriorating with every day that he remains under, and the prognosis is…it’s not looking good,” Natasha continued, her voice cracking, betraying the emotion she was trying to hold back. “And… I thought I’d try to get in touch with you and the rest of the guys, you know, to—to…prepare us for any eventuality.”_

_Steve felt like the ground was viciously pulled from right under him, like his heart fell to the very bottom of his stomach. What could he say? What was there left to say? “Tha—thank you for calling me to tell us, Nat. I’ll let the others know. Could—could you hang on to the phone and if you can, update us as often as you can on news about Tony’s condition?”_

_“Sure, Steve.” Nat’s voice sounded like that of an uncertain little girl’s and he was reminded of how much younger she really was compared to him. “I’ll do that. You take care, OK?”_

_============_

_There was no hiding it from the rest of the team, too. He was seated on the table supposedly to share a meal with them when not five minutes from the time they were all seated, Sam turned to him and asked, concerned, “Steve? You’re really quiet. Is something wrong?”_

_Steve, stammering through his explanation, told them about Tony’s condition._

_“Jesus—did Nat tell you how that could’ve happened?” Clint asked, himself shaken with the news. Wanda had a hand over her mouth in shock. Sam’s face could’ve been carved out of stone. And though Scott barely knew Tony, even he was obviously subdued by the grave news._

_“No, she didn’t give any details. Only the news,” Steve relayed. “Media hasn’t got wind of it yet. The press releases only disclosed that Iron Man had been in some kind of scrape during the last Avengers emergency that involved an alien wildlife stampede or something, and that he’s probably recuperating as he hasn’t been seen since. I asked T’Challa if he could find out more about it. And he definitely confirmed that, according to his intel, Tony has been in a coma for almost two months now.”_

_“Jesus,” Clint said again, dismayed._

_“What are we going to do?” Sam asked the million-dollar question to an otherwise stunned table._

_Steve had thought about it, too—what they were supposed to do now. They were all still wanted fugitives with Wakanda being their one safe haven. If they set foot anywhere on United States soil, they could only guess what Thunderbolt Ross may have in store for them. But, at the same time, Steve couldn’t imagine sitting here with his tail between his legs while Tony fought for his life. Steve had a lot to atone to Tony for, and he’d be damned if he didn’t try to start before it was too late._

_“There’s no_ we _, Sam,” Steve murmured. “You guys are staying here; I’m going back to the US.”_ And to Tony _remained unsaid. He had to. There was no other option._

 _Loud protests erupted all over the table at that. “_ No fucking way _, Cap. Though the SI lawyers have been trying to push for exonerations for us, last I heard those haven’t come through yet. If you set one foot on US soil, Ross is gonna have you tagged, bagged and thrown in The Raft, and there’s not a goddamned thing you can do. What’s gonna happen to us then? You’re not gonna be much help to Tony or to any of us if they’ve got you under lock and key in a maximum-security prison for the Enhanced.” Clint was the loudest in his protestations._

_“But there’s no way I’m staying here to hide behind the walls of Wakanda like a damn coward. I’m sorry but I’m going,” argued Steve, clenching his jaw._

_“Why?” Sam asked. “Why is it so important for you to be by Tony, Steve? That you’d risk everything to go to him when he doesn’t even have a single notion of what you’re putting on the line or that you’re even_ there _?_

_"What really happened in the HYDRA facility between you, Barnes and Tony, Steve? I think everyone on this table has a right to know, don’t you?”_

_That stung. Because, of course, Steve knew what everyone on the table had sacrificed to help him on Bucky’s say-so regarding the other Winter Soldiers. They’d all turned their backs on friends and family to help Steve and they were all wanted fugitives now. They deserved the truth. And they deserved to hear it from Steve._

_“I kept the truth of his parents’ murder from him,” blurted Steve out. “I’ve known for some time already that his parents hadn’t died in a car accident. I’ve had my suspicions that Bucky—the Winter Soldier—might have had a hand in it. And I didn’t say anything. I thought I was trying to protect him, but the truth was, I was trying to protect myself because I was afraid of what he was going to do to Bucky if he knew the truth,” Steve relayed, repeated what he’d told Tony in his letter. It was shameful to have to own up to it, but it was the_ truth _._

_“Jesus,” Clint breathed for the third time. Scott looked even more dumbstruck than he already was, and Wanda’s eyes were so wide, Steve could see her pupils from way across the long table._

_“So you see,” Steve began, “I_ have _to go. I have to start making things right—do something, before it’s too late.”_

_Sam heaved a deep breath. “And if they throw you in The Raft as soon as you set one foot on US soil?”_

_“Then so be it,” said Steve quietly but resolutely._

_============_

_The advantage to being friends with a very powerful royal and leader of his own country was that it was quick to get things done. Not 48 hours later, Steve was already preparing to leave Wakanda. T’Challa was going to provide an unidentifiable plane that was going to take him to JFK in New York and after that, he was on his own. The United States couldn’t know that all that time, Wakanda has been harboring them._

_Natasha was not very pleased with Steve’s decision to fly back to the US to be by Tony’s side. She, too, was concerned that Steve was going to be picked up by the authorities to be unceremoniously thrown in The Raft since the exonerations being negotiated by Tony’s lawyers were yet to come through. Steve said he didn’t care, and that he wasn’t about to sneak himself back home as well. If he was going to be by Tony’s side, he was going to do it without hiding like a common criminal. Natasha told him that she was going to try to expedite things by calling in favors that she could. If Steve was sure—_

_“I’m sure, Nat,” Steve guaranteed, “I’m just going to say goodbye to Bucky and then I’m on my way.”_

_And the laboratory was his last stop before he was to be escorted to the King’s private runway to board the plane that would take him back home._

_“I’m sorry that I have to leave you behind, Buck,” whispered Steve, tracing a finger on the frost-covered glass that isolated his friend from the rest of the world. “But I promise you that I will come back and I will find a way to free you from HYDRA once and for all. I just… I have to do this. I have to go to Tony. I have to keep muttering in his ear to get him to wake up and when he does wake up, hating me for what we’ve—_ I’ve _—done, then the important thing is he’d be awake. He’d be awake and I can have another chance to make things with him right again. I know you will understand me, Buck. Hold the fort for me, won’t you, pal? I’ll see you soon, OK?” Steve didn’t know how long that ‘soon’ would be, but he had to believe that that ‘soon’ was not going to be months or years. He was going to be in God’s good humor as soon as he landed at JFK—he could be thrown in jail for the foreseeable future and not be able to return to Bucky. But apprehension was not going to do him much good now. He had decided to be by Tony’s side; he was sticking to it. This was his choice._

_This time, he was choosing Tony._

_“Is there really no changing your mind about this?” Clint suddenly asked, dropping down from one of the laboratory’s ceiling panels like a wraith._

_“T’Challa is going to have you flayed by the Dora Milaje if he finds out that you prowl the ceilings like a spy, Clint,” scolded Steve with an unimpressed face._

_“What’re you talking about? I_ am _a spy or have you forgotten, Cap?” Clint asked jokingly. “You really going to go through with this?”_

_“Yes,” Steve said straightforwardly, “I was just saying goodbye to him.”_

_Clint breathed a resigned sigh before pulling out a package about as thick and as big as a pocketbook tucked in the waistband of his trousers. “Well if you are, can you make sure to give this to—to Laura and my kids? Please Cap,” he requested._

_Steve gingerly accepted the package, fighting down the lump that had formed in his throat and was making it hard for him to swallow. “Of course, Clint. I’ll make sure that Laura gets this, I—“ He felt guilty anew. This was his fault; Clint was so far from his family; Scott was so far from his daughter, unsure when they could all be reunited, and all because Steve had recruited them to his harebrained cause. “Clint, I’m—“ He prepared to apologize again. How many more times before had he done that, he couldn’t be sure anymore._

_“Look Cap—I knew the possible repercussions of my decision. And I still decided to help you anyway. Please don’t disrespect my decision by apologizing—again,” Clint said, half-joking but also half-serious. “Just be careful—all right? You won’t have us there to watch your back.”_

_“I will,” Steve assured with a tight-lipped grin. He watched Clint turn around to walk away._

_Clint stopped in his tracks and turned his head to say something else to his leaving commander. “Listen Steve—I’m not proud of the last thing I said to Tony. Especially after everything that had happened—everything that I’ve found out since… You’ll make sure that you get him to wake up, won’t you? Rich boy still needs to hear my apology…and my thanks for everything he’s done—everything he’s been doing for us despite everything that’s happened,” Clint murmured. “If there’s anyone who could_ irritate _Stark into snapping out of his coma, that’d be you, Steve.”_

_“I hope so, Clint. I hope so.”_

_============_

_As it turned out, Steve didn’t need to worry about being thrown in The Raft._

_While he was en route to the United States, the administration sacked Ross as Secretary of State because of the ever growing national and international support for the amendment of the Sokovia Accords. The exoneration for Captain Steve Rogers also finally came through and it ensured that he was virtually unmolested going through the airport. Some people might call it tremendous good fortune that all positive things had aligned themselves as Steve was making his way back to the Avengers and back to Tony’s side. Steve was too busy being thankful to mind too much about the too-good-to-be-true circumstances._

_Natasha was the one who welcomed him at the doorstep of the residential building of the Avengers compound._

_“Turns out I didn’t even need to cash in my favors because the administration was practically gritting its teeth to be rid of Ross. We’re lucky it’s an election year, with the growing interest and support for the more sympathetic opposition and the dropping numbers of the administration in the surveys, they were quite eager to up their numbers by chucking the deadweight and Ross was it. After that, it was easy to wrangle the exonerations. I would think the rest of the guys’ would follow and even Barnes’ if our luck holds up,” Natasha explained, leading Steve to his old quarters in the residential building. “You have your old room. I’ll take you to the medical building and to Tony after you’ve settled in and collected yourself.”_

_“Or you can take me there now,” Steve opted, “I’ll just drop these off and we can go. I don’t need to collect myself, Nat. I need to see Tony.” Steve knew he probably looked like shit; he’d hardly had any sleep in three days and he was jetlagged, but he needed to see Tony. He needed to satisfy himself that Tony was still around and fighting the good fight to stay alive._

_When he finally saw Tony, lying unconscious on a hospital bed with a breathing tube in his mouth, stuck to about a Command Center-worth of medical equipment, looking nothing like the fiery, spirited genius-superhero that Steve knew he was, but a fragile husk of a man, Steve nearly choked out a sob._

_God, he was so sorry. So sorry that he had abandoned Tony, that he had hurt Tony so much. It had been one of the most difficult decisions he’d ever had to make, more than the decision to offer his life by crashing the Valkyrie in the Arctic. But he’d done it anyway—hurt and abandoned his friend. And now, he could very well be too late to make things right._

_Steve hung his head and leaned on his shaking arms by the side of Tony’s bed. “Oh God, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Tony…” There were no tears, but there need not be tears on the outside for Steve to know that his heart was shattering into shards inside. He might not have been the one to do this, but if Steve had not broken them apart like he had, would Tony still be lying here?_

_“It was a stampede of alien wildlife. It had always been an exception in the Sokovia Accords—some kind of extraterrestrial attack. I tried to get to where the action was as fast as I could—to help, to… to just be there in case they needed back-up. I had been away, too, you see. I had to go in deep cover after letting you and Barnes walk away in the hangar._

_“No one was sure what had happened. One minute Iron Man was flying over the herd doing some kind of recon and when Dr. Strange used his power to try to send the alien wildlife to an alternate dimension at once, Tony’d lost control of the Iron Man suit and crashed through a building, taking a chunk out of it. It would’ve been a lot worse if FRIDAY had not seized control of the suit at the last minute. He still suffered a beating though. And he’d not opened his eyes since.” Natasha did her best to relay to Steve what she knew of the circumstances surrounding Tony’s accident._

_Steve scoured a frustrated palm through his face before, with his other hand, seizing Tony’s limp hand that was closest to him and clutching it just tight enough to try to let Tony know that he was there, that he was so damn sorry. “If I’d just done what you suggested, Nat, none of this would’ve happened,” he said, his voice breaking._

_“We don’t know that,” Nat interjected. “You and I know that Tony has always been brash and not very much into self-preservation. Something like this could’ve still happened even with all of us here.” Natasha placed a reassuring hand on Steve’s upper arm and squeezed._

_No, it couldn’t have. Because Steve would’ve prevented it. Steve would’ve used his tactical genius so that they’d all be going home in one piece and relatively unscathed, all of them. But because he was a pigheaded, lying idiot, he wasn’t there and Tony got hurt._

_This might not have been directly his fault. But he was still to blame somehow._

_============_

_Steve didn’t know what he was supposed to feel once he was introduced to Dr. Stephen Strange. Nat had said something about his power having had something to do with why Tony was lying like a vegetable on a hospital bed. He wanted to be angry, to be demanding for some answers. But he was just mostly resigned. This wasn’t Strange’s fault. Strange was just there to fill the gap left by Steve and the rest of the Avengers that had taken his side during the conflict. If anything, Steve should_ thank _Strange for being there when Steve wasn’t._

_He sought to make up for the days he wasn’t there by being there beside Tony whenever he could. He preferred to be there by himself, in the late or very early hours, or whenever Rhodes or Natasha couldn’t. Steve didn’t want to make Tony’s best friend uncomfortable by being a mother hen now when not a few months ago, he was practically snarling Tony’s head off because of the Sokovia Accords. He preferred it when he was alone with Tony anyway. He used the time to tell Tony everything he couldn’t say to the other man’s face had the latter been awake._

_Whenever he wasn’t with Tony, though, Steve still made it a point to call Wakanda to ask about Bucky. To talk to Bucky even though he knew Bucky couldn’t hear him. Much like Tony probably couldn’t hear him, too. It didn’t matter that they weren’t lucid to see how much they mean to Steve. What mattered to Steve was that he could be with the people who meant the world to him in whatever way…_

_Tony used to accuse him of being so serious all the time, of being so tight-fisted with his emotions. Maybe he was. Maybe it had something to do with the culture he was brought up in. Maybe it was habit. But he wasn’t tight-fisted now. He told everything he could think of telling. He told Tony all his fears during the war, all his awkwardness during the USO tours, all his pain when he’d thought Bucky had died, all his desperation when he learned he’d been asleep for seventy years, all his excitement and trepidation about what the future was like. He told Tony what he’d really thought of the genius the first time they met. He told Tony about what he’d felt while they were under Loki’s staff’s influence, and when he’d thought Tony had died in the wormhole._

_And most of all, he asked for Tony’s forgiveness. Over and over. Even though Tony was in no position to give it to him._

_But the heaviness in his heart didn’t get any lighter. He kept talking to Tony anyway._

_“You will love the technology in Wakanda, Tony. I know your eyes will bug out if you saw all the equipment they were able to build out of vibranium. And you will be so fascinated with the Dora Milaje and their weapons,” Steve narrated, transferring from the arm chair beside Tony’s bed to sit on the edge of the bed itself and taking hold of Tony’s hand again. “Open your eyes, genius, so I can take you to Wakanda and give you a tour, with the King’s permission, of course. I know you will love it, Tony. So you gotta wake up so I can show it to you…”_

_Just like his past encouragements and entreaties, these new ones fell on deaf ears, still, and Tony remained unconscious._

_Sometimes, he gave Tony warm sponge baths when it was his turn to watch the unconscious genius. And all the while, the stories and the entreaties kept coming. He promised himself not to tire, not to give up. Tony was going to get fed up with Steve’s stories one of these days and he’d open those mischievous brown eyes. Steve kept telling himself: “Tony’s going to wake up today. Today’s the day.”_

_One of these days, it’d finally happen._

_“Clint says you gotta wake up to get him back for the shitty things he’d said to you. And you still have to formally meet Scott. You’ll like Scott. I think you’d really hit it off because he’s an engineer like you. And he’s resourceful and funny—like you, Tony,” Steve kept the running commentary, brushing Tony’s brown hair off his forehead._

_“Your hair is getting long. Maybe I could cut it for you. I used to cut Bucky’s hair for him and—“ Was it wise to tell Tony stories about Bucky? Maybe not… “—I’d do it for you, too. If that’s all right with you.”_

_Tony’s hand enclosed in Steve’s twitched. No, Steve couldn’t have imagined that. It did twitch._

_“Tony? Tony… It’s Steve. I’m here. It’s Steve, Tony. You can wake up. Please wake up,” Steve said, practically yelling in Tony’s face now. Because he didn’t imagine that. Tony’s hand moved. Today was the day. Tony was going to wake up today._

_“Tony—“_

_And then the seizures started._

_============_

_“What the bloody fuck do you mean by he has a Do Not Resuscitate Order in his medical forms?” Rhodes practically screeched. Steve knew that if he didn’t have his leg implements he would’ve started pacing the breadth of the room where they were in, meeting with the gaggle of Tony’s lawyers and doctors. Either that, or he was going to kick someone’s face in in frustration._

_They have just averted another massive seizure. And they were getting worse, and more frequent, too. For twenty interminable seconds during the last one, Tony had even flat-lined. And Steve had thought his heart was going to stop beating, too._

_But Tony proved that he was a fighter and the vitals monitors picked up the beating of his heart again. The crisis was averted for the time being._

_And now this._

_“Mr. Stark had filled out a power of attorney authorizing Lt. Col. James Rhodes to decide when he couldn’t on the matter of medical consent over his person and well-being. But in the same paper gave a DNR order should his heart stop beating through natural causes,” an SI lawyer, whose name escaped Steve explained. “I’m bringing this up, Colonel, in case something similar to this afternoon’s incident comes up in the future. While you have authority to keep Mr. Stark on life support for the foreseeable future, you are enjoined to respect his DNR order should his heart stop beating_ regardless _of the life support.”_

 _“Like hell I’d listen to you and to some_ paper _when it comes to deciding whether Tony lives or dies,” Rhodes snarled._

_“In any case, Colonel, you know Mr. Stark’s wishes,” the attorney said with a hint of sympathy in her otherwise even voice._

_Steve breathed a rattling breath and leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs and his head squeezed between his hands like in a vise. It was like a nightmare. It was like a nightmare he was never going to get used to having._

_“Can we get off this subject? We need updates regarding the exoneration for the rest of the Avengers. How are they coming along?” It was Natasha who had the presence of mind to change the subject into something much less sinister._

_“We expect them to come through in the next 48 hours, Ma’am,” the attorney replied, not knowing how she had dodged a figurative bullet there by getting to call Natasha ‘Ma’am’ yet continuing to breathe._

_“Let’s take the team home,” Steve interjected._

_“Probably for the best,” Rhodes reluctantly agreed. “Regardless of what had happened, Tony would want all of us here. Just like old times…”_

_“In case something happens, they—“ Natasha’s voice cracked. “—they’d want to be able to say goodbye.”_

_============_

_The day the rest of the Avengers was scheduled to arrive, Tony died._

_Tony flat-lined for all of two minutes and a half before Rhodes defied the DNR order and barked for the attending doctors and nurses to light Tony up with electricity to jumpstart his heart._

_Steve was in the residential building’s entrance to receive the rest of the team, along with Natasha, when barely thirty seconds after the team arrived, sharing hugs and fist bumps with their much-missed friends, pandemonium broke out and they were summoned to the medical building._

_Rhodes was purple-faced and panicking when they got there, demanding that despite the DNR order, Tony be defibrillated. He’d had a seizure and was flat-lining again during Rhodes’ watch._

_“I don’t fucking care if I go to jail by defying that DNR shit! I’m not just gonna watch him die!” Rhodes yelled, spurring the medical personnel into action to charge the defibrillator to shock Tony’s system into responding again._

_Wanda was crying into Vision’s chest; Clint and Sam’s faces could’ve been carved from stone; Scott was off to a corner, to keep out of the way of the comatose man’s friends; Natasha was chewing her thumbnail to the quick, suppressing tears from her already glassy eyes; and Steve was clutching the steel bar at the foot of Tony’s bed tightly and breathing shallowly to keep himself from screaming Tony’s name._

Don’t do this to me, Tony! Don’t die on me, please! Please, please, please…

_“Clear!” A doctor announced before pressing the charged paddles to Tony’s chest. Once._

_Nothing._

_“One more. He’s gonna make it,” Rhodes said with absolute certainty, meeting Steve’s desperate gaze for the first time. “He’s gonna make it.”_

_“Clear!”_

_Then a soft beeping sound filled the room, replacing the stunned silence of its occupants. Natasha actually whimpered and sought Clint’s hand to clutch at for some kind of purchase through the blinding panic. Another sound filled the room: a slight wheezing. From Tony._

_“Patient’s breathing by himself,” the attending physician announced. They didn’t know if it was directed at the other medical personnel or to the patient’s friends who were still, for all intents and purposes, stunned out of their eyeballs. “Let’s remove the breathing tube.”_

_“Does that mean he’s waking up?” Natasha asked, breathless._

_“We’ll have to keep him under observation for the next 24 hours. If at the end of 24 hours, he’s still breathing by himself, things may finally be looking up,” the doctor answered, looking relieved herself._

_Steve pried his hands from the bar at the foot of the bed and saw that he’d squeezed the metal to a pulp. He didn’t care. Reaching for Tony’s foot, he gently gave it a reassuring squeeze. He’d like to think that Tony was still fighting because now he knew that his family had found their way home once again._

_============_

_Tony got through the critical 24 hours, breathing by himself. But he remained asleep. The seizures have stopped, too. Which was why the doctors were baffled as to why he was still unconscious. They tried to look at the responsiveness of his pupils and his reflexes which all seemed normal to them. Normal for someone who was sleeping._

_When they relayed their inconclusive medical findings about Tony’s condition during one of their weekly medical bulletins to the team, the report seemed to have sparked something in Dr. Strange because he seemed more interested and more thoughtful than usual, listening to the report regarding Tony’s state._

_“Do you have any theories?” Rhodes asked, curious also._

_“Many. None more believable than the last. But it’s better than nothing,” Strange cryptically replied. “There seems to be nothing wrong with his body anymore. Yet he remains asleep. Which means…his consciousness may still be on travel or maybe, all this time, it had always been somewhere else…”_

_“Is there a way to get him back then?” Steve was only too eager to ask, unmindful of the paranormal implications of Strange’s words._

_“Depends,” Strange answered._

_“On what?”_

_“Does he have a reason to come back?”_

_“That…was a bit weird, or was that just me?” Scott piped up after Strange excused himself to look something up and test his theory._

_That night, Steve appropriated bedside vigil duty for himself again. He’d gotten used to talking to Tony, telling Tony about his past, about his day, about his plans for the future. He told Tony about Rhodes letting him help with the adjustment of his leg implements; he told Tony about the fire spreading all over the world, calling for the amendment of the Sokovia Accords—a fire that Tony started._

_“Does this persistence to get Tony to wake have something to do with why Tony has your shield in his custody?” Natasha suddenly piped up from a darkened corner. Steve could only hazard a guess how she’d gotten in without Steve noticing. “Steve, what really happened after the tarmac tussle? How did Tony get your shield? Did you give it to him? Did he take it from you by force?”_

_Steve told her the same thing he’d told the team in Wakanda. He’d confessed to Natasha his sins. He knew it was useless. The person he needed to confess to and the person he needed forgiveness from was still indisposed. There was still no redemption for him._

_“You weren’t the only one who was there when Zola disclosed the assassination of Tony’s parents. I was there, too. I’m just as guilty, Steve. And then I had to go and betray him in the hangar by letting you go,” Natasha quietly said, plopping down on the floor by the side of the door, from where she could still look at Steve who was seated on Tony’s bedside. “I have just as much to atone for.”_

“He’s my friend—“

“So was I.”

 _“I turned my back on him, Nat. He was my friend. I cared—_ care _—a lot about him and I still had it in me to turn my back on him,” Steve argued._

_“Well—something tells me it was a decision that didn’t come easy,” Natasha answered. “Tony is—I’d like to think Tony is not as heartless as everyone pegs him to be. Best to focus on the penance rather than the sin, Captain. Tony will be awake soon and when he does he will need to know and see what you’ve been doing for him—what you’re prepared to do for him.”_

_Steve nodded, stood up and sat beside Tony on the bed. It had become habit for him to brush the brown strands of hair off Tony’s forehead, and he did it now, whispering: “I won’t give up. I will spend the rest of my life earning your friendship back, if I have to. Do you hear me, Tony? Wake up. And let me make it up to you. Let me be your friend again. Let me be what you need me to be. Please. Please…”_

“Please,” Steve whispered to his empty room, clutching the burner phone in his hand. He blinked himself out of the head space of recollection.

He’d gotten his wish. Tony had woken up. It had taken them awhile to find purchase on where to start picking up the pieces of their friendship. But things should be better now. They’ve hit rock bottom already and there was nowhere else to go but up.

Maybe instead of feeling terrible about where they all were, Steve should stop feeling ungrateful, and count his blessings instead. He ought to have known by now that you couldn’t get everything you wanted anyway. But he’d gotten _something…_ Tony was awake and alive and well, wasn’t he? Didn’t Steve want that, prayed for it even? Bucky was awake and getting well now, too. And didn’t Steve only use to dream about that before? He was slowly putting his family back together as well, and that, too, was only a pipe dream when they were still exiled in Wakanda…

Maybe the time for wishing and wanting for things he couldn’t have was long past. Maybe it was time for him to appreciate and make the most of what he has.

Steve kissed the burner phone and put it back in the drawer. He should really try getting some sleep now. Tomorrow would be another beautiful day spent with people who meant the world to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BTW, I'd like to promote a new one-shot I wrote for the 2nd anniversary of the publication of STEM, it's entitled STOLEN SMILES, HIDDEN GLANCES. If you have the time, you might want to check it out. It's a short and sweet AU-No powers one, featuring Stony and WinterIron. You'll see when you check it out!
> 
> Cheerio!


	28. 28. TONY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony joins his first official team training with explosive results. Suspecting that he is being subjected to some matchmaking by Steve and Bucky, Tony plans to beat them at their own game with some matchmaking plans of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's another Friday! Update day!!! Yay!!!
> 
> This chapter features paintball and I've only ever played twice and being shot at was NOT fun. So, if you spot any issues, highly unlikely scenarios herein involved, please point them out to me and we'll see how we can resolve them. This was a real pain in the ass to write because i wanted the game and the win of the victors to be as realistically believable as possible. I hope this is not too detestable...
> 
> Also, you may already notice that I've already set the number of chapters to this story. We are 12 chapters away from the conclusion. The outline has been written as of press time, I'm settled on which angle happens first. And I think it is the most subtle angle, depending on the perspective, I guess... So yeah--we have an end in sight, people!!!! Whew!!!
> 
> In light of the end in sight, I want to hold a poll: I NEED TO KNOW IF I'M TO TRY WRITING SOME SEXY TIMES, SO IF YOU WANT SOME THREE-WAY SEXY TIMES TO GO DOWN, LET ME KNOW NOW because it will take some psyching up to write, on my part, as I've never tried writing a threesome before. A good number of you guys are subscribed to this story already, and this is your chance to have your voice heard. Do you think the story needs some Explicit moment or would you be all right with staying wholesome? Please, please, I'd like to know what you think...
> 
> Don't be stingy on your Comments and Kudos, a'ight? I adore getting to know you so give me a holler! ^_^ Huge thanks go to the regular commenters of this baby, you make my week so much brighter. Still unbeta-edited so for any issues, give me a heads-up, too, please. 
> 
> WARNINGS for a bit of self-mutilation but nothing too graphic and the situation calls for it. You've been forewarned.
> 
> Enjoy your weekend, my sweets, and ENJOY this installment!  
> ___

****He’d had to psych himself up four times just to be able to cross the threshold out of his workshop, put one foot in front of the other, and keep walking until he reached the entrance to the residential building. He was on the way to the open-air shooting range-slash-field training area of the Avengers compound to supposedly join the team on his first ever training with them since waking up from his coma.

He’d gotten the alert from FRIDAY that a team training was scheduled for today, three days previously. It had also been casually mentioned by Peter yesterday morning at breakfast to remind him about it.

Yes, Tony Stark attends breakfasts with the team now, at least he’s been going and actually eating something for the past four days, starting on the day after the Movie Night. He must say, too, that it wasn’t that bad, hanging out with them. It was a plus that he got to put more substantial food in him as well, so much so that Tony hasn’t heard FRIDAY whine about him eating his weight in Twinkies since that first breakfast. 

Team meals were one thing but team _trainings_ were quite another, especially since he’d hammered into Cap that he’d _intended_ to retire and just focus on his inventions—a far cry from what he’d told the man in the boardroom of the Joint Counter Terrorist Center, but after the conflict, after the battle to have the Accords amended, after the coma and the time he spent in the other dimension, Tony realized just how _fucking_ tired he was. A part of him wanted to do what he loved and to just turn his back on this superhero shit, but another part of him just didn’t want—or didn’t _know_ how—to quit.

One thing was certain, though: Tony didn’t know what to expect if he were to join the team that morning.

The genius-billionaire wanted to turn on his heel and run back the way he came as soon as he spotted Clint Barton’s dark blonde head of hair among the people gathered at the entrance to the training area, separated from the rest of the space by wide wooden planks, corrugated sheets of metal and cyclone wire all nailed together and painted in army green and black to form a hodge-podge wall.

Tony had a really, _really_ bad feeling about what lay behind that wall. The dread was palpable enough to make him want to turn on the balls of his feet to get back in the cool and comfort of his workshop and his machines. He knew he definitely should’ve had that extra mug of paint-stripping coffee this morning if he were to deal with the shit behind those walls.

As if he was announced by a herald, everyone turned to watch him approach. He tried to look as if he was just taking a morning walk and only happened upon the rest of the team congregated there. “Oh hey guys—‘sup?”

“Tony,” acknowledged Natasha. “If you’re joining us, we’d have enough people to be able to partner up.”

Well—no turning back now. “Depends. What am I signing up for?” He _knew_ he definitely should’ve worn something more substantial than a thin, round-necked and short-sleeved black shirt and slimline joggers; he had a feeling he was in for some physical punishment.

“Paintball,” Steve announced, deadpan. This earned a loud groan from Peter, a pained whine from Scott and a look, as if she was waiting for the punchline of the joke, from Wanda. Clint, Sam and Rhodey seemed amused and even excited while Bucky, Strange and Vision just looked lost. Steve took the reactions all around as a sign to continue, “let’s suit up,” he said gesturing towards a wooden crate of Velcro vests, helmets, fog-resistant goggles on full-face masks, comm units and arm and leg pads.

Tony decided to keep his opinions to himself as, like the others, he dutifully donned the necessary gear for the day’s activity.

“How about if I partner up with Stark on this one?” Clint volunteered, sidling up next to Tony to the latter’s utter surprise.

“If you’re insinuating that I’m the least likely to hold my own in a shooting free-for-all, then I couldn’t care less if Cap pairs you up with me, Barton—I’d shoot you first… _in the_ _face_ ,” spat Tony, yanking a pre-prepped Stark-modified, tactical paintball gun complete with CO2 tank from the stand, knocking the bolt handle back on it to put it in the ready position.

“Calm your tits, Rambo—I didn’t mean it like that. I just—“ Clint hesitated, sheepish, despite the goggles covering half his face. “I thought you could do with someone who’s got _your_ back for a change.”

The sincere apology was unmistakable in those words and considering that this was coming from _Clint Barton_ , joker and sleazebag-extraordinaire, this was his Shakespeare sonnet as far as apologies went.

“I’m tougher than I look, Clint,” assured Tony, his voice falling soft in recognition of the apology embedded in those words. He nodded once to the archer to convey that he understood Clint’s message.

“I’m afraid you can’t partner with Tony even if you decide to cuff yourselves to one another because this training exercise calls for different dynamics,” Steve interjected, smiling softly at the subliminal exchange between his teammates as well. “The pairings are already pre-determined. It will be one Enhanced to one Non-enhanced. So… Sam—you’re with Vision. Wanda is with Rhodey. Clint—you’re with Stephen. Scott is with Peter. And Buck—you’re joining in this one too, and you’re with Tony.

“The mechanics are pretty simple. Keep shooting; don’t get shot. You get shot in a critical place—your vest or your face mask, or you get shot in non-critical areas like the arm or leg pads often enough, then sensors in your gear may very well declare you dead. You die then you’re outta the game. When you die, the gear you’re wearing will get magnetized, effectively immobilizing you. So you’ll definitely know when you’re dead.

“You’re free to use your abilities and enhancements _but_ to attack a player, you _have_ to use the guns. So, no controlling paintballs telekinetically on offense, Wanda—only in defense. Those who can fly may use that ability but you have to know the limits of your weapons, which can only shoot up to a certain distance.

“You’re free to establish alliances all you want, but in the end only one team wins. First team to dispatch the others and get their flag, which is the same color as their paintballs, wins. Any questions about the mechanics?” Steve looked around the group.

“What if my partner gets shot, can I still continue by myself to try to get our flag?” Peter asked, which earned him a dirty look from Scott “What? We might end up having to do the sacrifice play!” Peter argued to get Scott to lay off of him with the look.

“Sure you can,” Steve answered. “But remember the objectives—get rid of the others _and_ get the flag. If you can accomplish all that after your partner is taken out of the equation, then good for you. Any other questions?”

“Can we move the flags around?” Sam asked, crossing his padded arms over his vested chest.

“No, you cannot. There are surveillance cameras all over the paintball arena for us to be able to track you and the game. If the winning team is found in violation of the rules, they forfeit,” replied Steve. “Also, you’d be in constant and exclusive communication with your partners through your comms, the channels of which only Natasha and I know. Except for the cameras and the comms—and to a certain extent, the modifications in your guns and gear, there isn’t any other electronic equipment inside the arena.”

Everyone knew the message was directed at Vision. Minimal electronic equipment meant that Vision was going to be limited in his use of his ability to potentially tap or harness machines.

When the group already fell silent in favor of thinking up initial strategies, Steve continued, “if you have no more questions, pick a color for your team and get your guns and extra ammo,” he directed, gesturing towards the rack where the modified paintball guns were propped. “You will be given five minutes inside the arena to strategize and take your positions. Game is officially on when you hear the siren.”

“Stevie—are you sure that I shou—“ Bucky started saying, appearing apprehensive.

“Our color is red. I like red,” Tony declared, unceremoniously pushing a gun with a red strip down the makeshift magazine and three hoppers filled with red paintballs against Bucky’s chest. “Let’s put your sniper skills to the test, soldier. Chop-chop.”

They all scrambled to put on their face-masks and to file into the paintball arena, where, obviously, a lot of thought and effort went into for its assembly because even Tony was floored and quite a bit intimidated.

It was like they’d been transported to some kind of forest warzone upon crossing the threshold. The ground was rough and uneven, rocky and dusty in some areas and, had it been raining, muddy in some pockets. The arena made use of the natural outcroppings, rises and dips in the terrain and felled greenery very well that the army-camouflaged wooden shacks and fences, stacks of used tires and dirt-filled jute sacks, trenches rimmed with wooden stakes and miles and miles of barbed wire looked like they belonged there. The umbrella provided by the foliage lent both a realistic and dramatic feel to the arena as dust motes and fingers of sunlight lit up tall wooden poles with footholds, climbing walls with black-colored grips, blackened monkey bars, and rope ladders that were scattered all over. There was even an honest-to-God crumpled and burned army-issue jeep as part of the arena’s landscaping that got Tony to give silent kudos to whoever devised the place as part of their team training.

Tony and Bucky decided to seek refuge early by claiming the first stone outcropping they found. “So what’s the plan, genius?”

“You’re asking me when you’re the one that ran suicide missions with Captain America? Seriously?” Tony asked, aghast that he was going to have to make some kind of strategy for them to try to win, the operative word being _‘try’_.

“Steve was always the thinker in those outings. I’d like to think of myself as more of a _doer_ actually,” Bucky admitted with shrug, checking the feel and weight of the weapon in his arms. “OK—what do you say to thinning out the herd?”

“Thinning out the herd is good. My guess is the non-Enhanced half of the partnerships will be loitering around by their flags, keeping low and close to the ground, while the Enhanced ones will be the one who’d keep moving to deal with the competition since they could defend themselves better, except for Clint—now, _he_ will be choosing a vantage point where he can take a shot wherever in the arena you may be, and you wouldn’t see him coming or taking that shot. He will be the toughest to drop of all the non-Enhanced,” Tony rationalized.

“I’ll take him out first then,” Bucky said as if he was just describing the weather and not talking about dealing with _Hawkeye_ who could probably shoot a damn fly in the middle of a hurricane. “So… non-Enhanced first. Then how do you think we should deal with the Enhanced? Who’d be the most difficult to take out?” Bucky took off his helmet and flexed his cybernetic arm experimentally as if to break it in before producing some kind of elastic band from wherever the hell he’d got it from and brushing his hair away from his face into some kind of man-bun at the back of his head.

Tony would be lying through his teeth if he said this gesture and the end result weren’t sexy as hell. The adrenaline pumping in his system in anticipation of the impending melee was obviously beginning to affect the soundness of his mind.

“I’m working on it. Give me a minute,” Tony hissed through his teeth defensively. “We should try to avoid the cams in case Vision is piggybacking on them to try to track the whereabouts of the opposing teams.”

It was then that a loud siren began to wail, signaling the start of the shooting free-for-all. “Gotcha,” Bucky confirmed after the siren stopped. “Don’t get shot,” he advised before he pulled the mask to fully cover his face, snapped the helmet back on his head and snuck out of their temporary refuge.

“I’ll do my level best,” Tony sing-songed with sickeningly sweet sarcasm before putting the rest of his own gear on and following Bucky out of their hiding place. “Comm check. Do you copy, B?”

“B?”

“I can’t very well call you _Bucky-bear_ in the middle of a damn gun fight now, can I?”

“Loud and clear on the comm check, _T_ ,” answered Bucky as if he was pressed close beside Tony.

Within eight minutes, well into the blasted game, Tony had nearly gotten shot thrice. Tony suspected _Clint_ of pulling the trigger. He would have been gloriously spattered in tacky yellow paint in the face or in the goddamn neck had Bucky not pulled at him or pushed him out of the line of fire. How Bucky even knew where the shots could be coming from, Tony didn’t know.

“You know…if I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re _enjoying_ having to manhandle me to keep me from getting shot, _B_ ,” Tony observed, viciously yanking his various head gear off and staring, unimpressed, at Bucky who was on top of him, pressed against him chest-to-knee. For the fourth time in nine and a half minutes, Tony was shot at again and that would’ve been it for him had Bucky not tackled him and then rolled them together in the cover of a stack of old truck tires with Bucky draping himself on top of the genius. Tony wanted to scream; was he always this… _useless_?

Somewhere in the arena, there were thwacks of paintball pellets hitting solid objects, sounds of rubber soles against dirt and high tensile strength fibered vests hitting wood while in their little patch of war zone, only their mixed heavy breathing could be heard until Bucky spoke: “guess I’m still waiting with bated breath here until you’re useful to me, _T_. Any minute now…” The face-mask may have garbled it but it came loud and clear through their comms.

OK, Tony didn’t know if Bucky got his sass from Cap or if it was the other way around, but either way, it was still annoying. “Prepare to shit a brick then,” Tony said with a devil-may-care smirk, nudging Bucky off of him with a knock of his knee.

He lifted his wrist, the one where his watch was strapped, close to his face and tapped in a special initializing sequence on its surface. With the three fingers of his right hand, Tony furiously tap-tapped and, with a flourish, swiped at the screen until a holographic projection appeared, hovering over the wristwatch face. Live feed from one of the many surveillance cameras scattered all over the paintball arena started to play. “You can rest assured that Vision is already helping himself to this to track our every move—well, two can play at that game, Viz.”

“Tony, that’s _cheating_!” Bucky reprimanded through the comms, aghast.

“Cap _did_ say we’re free to use our abilities, and this is me using my abilities,” Tony said, flicking his fingers to enlarge the feed to share with his partner. On the holo-screen was Wanda, defending against paintballs being shot from somewhere up high—again, Tony was guessing that Clint was the one responsible; and Tony noticed that Wanda’s gun was angled funny, lolling quite uselessly from her dominant hand, unused, even as Scott zipped right by her, free for the shooting.

Tony wordlessly flicked the dial on the watch’s face to switch to another cam’s feed, showing Strange doing his magic shtick, much like Wanda’s, mostly to defend. His gun hung from the strap on his non-dominant shoulder. Also unused.

“I might have something, but I need more confirmatory data. Meanwhile, we need to dispatch the non-Enhanceds, pronto. We need their guns and ammo,” Tony said, making to get up from where they were still safely ducked, with every intention to re-join the fray.

“No,” Bucky said, and with a hand on Tony’s chest, pushed the latter right back down on the ground. Tony almost got the wind knocked out of him. What the— “You stay here and get your data. I’ll be right back with what you need. You better have a better plan by the time I get back,” Bucky interposed. This time he yanked at the collar of his vest to free his dark-colored hoodie which he threw over his shiny helmet. He also picked at the bright red stickers on the holder of his gun and yanked it off. He did away with anything shiny, colorful and eye-catching on his person before, like a ghost, he was out of their refuge and out of Tony’s sight.

Left alone, Tony took to watching the live feeds of the cameras to try to make a mental note of where everyone was. He paid special attention to the Enhanced players in the arena because he trusted Bucky to make quick work of the others. He’d come to the conclusion that the people to beat were Vision and Peter because both could defend and attack at the same time—Viz, who could dematerialize through walls and make pellets go _through_ him and Peter, who had top-notch and near-clairvoyant spider sense and reflexes.

“ _Oh come on_!” Someone yelled in dismay. It was followed by a long string of colorful expletives, which could only mean that that was _Clint_. Bucky had succeeded in putting the legendary _Hawkeye_ out. Natasha would be making copies of the _copies_ of the video footage to hock them online. The possibilities were endless.

Tony eagerly went through the cam feeds to see for himself, and indeed Sam, Scott, Rhodey and Clint were all either lying immobilized in the dirt or, in the particular case of Clint, stuck to a metal barrier in a position that seemed both funny and indecent. All of them had red paint generously splattered on their vests, or again in the particular case of Clint, right in the kisser of his face-mask.

“ _Screw you, Barnes_!” Clint hollered, undeniably pissed off at having been bested.

Oh they’ve been marked now. Chances were, all of the Enhanced would be allying with each other to dispose of them. Tony’s plan was going to have to work or they would be bathing in rainbow-colored paintballs soon enough.

“Easy-peasy,” Bucky said, coming out of nowhere and dumping four guns and some eight hoppers on the ground beside where Tony was sat in a lotus position. “Hardly broke a sweat.” Bucky pulled off his various head gear anew so Tony could get a good look at him. He didn’t even sound like he was breathing heavily. What kind of _awesome_ was this guy?!

“I didn’t even hear you over on the comms,” Tony remarked, unaware that there was a hint of admiration tingeing his tone already.

“Don’t forget who you’re talking to. Careful, T,” Bucky warned with a slight leer. “It just might get to my head that I’ve _impressed_ you or something,” drawled the other brunette, crouching close beside Tony to make themselves as small a target as possible. But they chose this hiding place precisely because this was a blind spot for the cameras.

“And we don’t want that, do we? Party’s just getting started,” Tony remarked, pulling the newly arrived weaponry close to him.

He took his watch off and laid it beside the rest of his new equipment. He then seized his left shoe and picked at a catch near the heel and tore the entire rubber sole off to reveal a small mass of compact electronics. “It’s a tracker. I have a shit ton of this embedded in all of my clothes, shoes and even my underwear. The thing itself is untraceable. But this is just an auxiliary to the tracker I have in my body. After Afghanistan, I wasn’t taking any chances,” Tony explained while he disassembled what components he could from the shoe tracker; he mainly needed the heavy-duty electrical tape.

Next, Tony very nearly made Bucky shit a literal brick when he pushed a hand down the front of his own trousers and pulled out a micro-multitool of his own invention that was light and handy enough to be stuck against his skin and covered with a material that feels remarkably like skin as well.

“ _Jesus Christ_ , where’d you get that?!” Bucky said with a hiss of surprise.

“It’s literally cradled against my balls for use in emergencies. You don’t want a more particular description than that,” Tony said with a snorted laugh.

“Christ almighty, if you’re packing a _hand drill_ in there, I swear to God I’m gonna freak,” Bucky cautioned, and Tony gave a shit-eating grin before flipping out the cutting implement in the multitool and digging for the Iron Man sensors in his forearms.

“The hell are you doing?!” Bucky hissed when he noticed Tony mutilating himself.

“I need at least two suit sensors,” Tony reasoned in a matter-of-fact tone. “Don’t be squeamish.

“Next up, I’ll need your arm,” Tony said.

Bucky looked at him quizzically.

“Don’t worry, I know exactly what component I need and it’s not going to affect your mobility or your reflexes. I’ll just bypass it for a sleeker connection and I will replace it once we’re done here. So…” Tony looked at Bucky expectantly. Bucky twisted on his waist a bit to offer the arm’s access panel.

“So what’s the plan, T?” Bucky asked, probably to distract himself while Tony tinkered with the innards of his arm like old times.

“We take out Strange and Wanda first, one after the other. I noticed that they cannot defend and attack at the same time. They use their hands too much and these guns, for accurate firing, need to be held with two hands. So, what _you’re_ going to do is to rig these guns where the surveillance cams are so I can draw power from them and use their mounting for mobility and I’d be able to shoot remotely while remaining relatively hidden. I will use the cams to have eyes on our targets, too. After you’ve rigged up the guns where I tell you to, go somewhere up top where you can have eyes on the others; make sure no one sees you and be ready to fire as soon as you have the chance. We’ll have to try to lead them to where our guns are mounted and then I’ll take care of inundating them with attacks using our rigged guns once they’re right where we want them. While I do that, find a weak spot in their shields,” Tony explained while he extracted what he wanted to from Bucky’s cybernetic arm and began to disassemble the guns, hoppers, tracker components, his wristwatch, suit sensors and mechanical arm parts like a man possessed with single-minded focus.

Pretty soon, Tony had the three guns modified with remote triggers and ready to be mounted and piggybacked on the surveillance cams for targeting and switching which Tony could undertake with his wristwatch. He explained how everything worked to Bucky and how everything was supposed to be rigged to the arena’s surveillance system.

“What if there’s no weak spot. What if they use a full-body shield?”

“And then, there’s this,” Tony said, gesturing to another set of crude devices made out of the CO2 tank of the remaining gun and the hoppers. There were three of them. “Basically, I’ve sealed the hoppers by fusing them together in the mouths and filled them with compressed air. One works as an impact grenade, two can be remotely detonated. They break right where they are only crudely fused together with electrical tape and then—“ Tony made a childish gesture of paintballs flying everywhere. “Wanda or Strange happens upon this lying on the ground roughly wrapped in jute sacks; they inadvertently step on it—bam!—they inadvertently have this at their feet within the confines of their shield, I trigger—bam! Does that answer your question?”

“What about Vision and Peter?” Bucky asked, prepping his weapon.

“I think they are the hardest to best in this game, so we’ll try to see if we can’t encourage them to try to take out each other first. Same drill, we try to lead them to where we want them and we fire the rigged guns of their respective partners and we make them think—“

“—that it was the other that fired at them,” Bucky finished Tony’s thought with a small smile of realization.

“Exactly, let’s see if they can’t solve our problems for us. Whatever happens, keep a close eye on them and shoot as soon as you have an opening. The key to Vision and Pete is sensory overload. If they don’t know what to defend themselves against in the barrage of attacks, their reflexes are for naught,” Tony answered with a shrug.

“I guess the remaining question is where we’re going to lead them to,” Bucky remarked.

“Where the red flag is. Obviously, they think I will try to make for it while you cover me. That’s as sound a strategy as any especially since you’re a top-caliber sniper. That’s where we’ll make our stand,” Tony said, checking and double checking his makeshift weapons. It was just like that time with the Mandarin all over again. This felt just as fulfilling as that.

Now, all that was left to see was whether their plan would work.

“I think Steve should be real afraid o’ you,” Bucky said in his gravelly voice that though rumbling couldn’t mask the approbation in every syllable. “This is really awesome, T.”

“We’ll have to see first if it’ll work,” Tony advised.

“I’ve no doubts that it will,” Bucky assured, getting up and gathering the guns for him to do his part of the plan. “Won’t we forfeit for violation of the rules though?”

“I don’t think we’re violating any. I was told to use my abilities; I’m using them. I was told to attack using the guns—“ he gestured towards the guns to be rigged and the gun he’d butchered for parts for the hopper grenades, “—I’ve used them. I’m your average, regular stickler for the rules.”

After, running over their plan again and checking their gear for the nth time, Tony asked Bucky just before the latter left their hideout, “ready to claim that victory by shooting shit up, B?”

“Born ready, T,” Bucky answered with a smile that Tony remembered seeing last in one of the World War II Cap reels.

In the end, their plan went off _nearly_ without a hitch. There was the one time that Tony almost got shot _again_. This time by Strange, but Bucky shot the barrel of Strange’s paintball gun at the last minute, and the hit was off-target by about several feet. Bucky ended up shooting Strange twice in the gut through an opening created by a drop in the sorcerer’s defenses for mere milliseconds.

Wanda had been harder to best and it took a camouflaged remote-detonated hopper grenade exploding inside the confines of her full-body shield and scattering red and blue paintballs within a small sphere of space that took her out of the running.

Peter took care of Vision for Tony and Bucky because the youngster did think that it was Vision shooting at him. After Vision was defeated by Peter with a shot to the back, Peter was elated that he didn’t notice the camouflaged hopper grenade and stepped on it. Unfortunately for him, it was the one that was rigged to explode on impact and even though Peter was able to evade all the flying paintballs because of his reflexes, sensory overload did it for him and he failed to get out of the way of a paintball shot to the face courtesy of Bucky, screaming, “ _mother Hubbard_!” quite loudly,

When the game was over, the siren sounded again. Everyone who was immobilized gathered themselves, and together, paint-splattered and stunned at how they’ve all been bested, they filed out of the paintball arena, complaining and moaning at their loss. Except for Tony and Bucky. They were laying the gloating on pretty thick.

“The red team cheated, Cap! Tony wasn’t even shooting his own gun! He’d rigged the others’ guns to piggyback on the surveillance system so he could shoot remotely!” Peter complained. It was hard to take him seriously when he had a big red paint spatter right smack in the middle of his face.

“How the _fucking_ hell were you able to sneak up on me, Barnes?” Clint bemoaned. “If we weren’t playing paintball and I had my usual weapon in my hands, you wouldn’t have stood a chance, _man-bun_!” He also had a red spatter on the face, but what really got Tony doubling over in laughter was the red spatter on Clint’s butt that he failed to notice in the live feeds.

“You shot him in the _ass_?” Tony stammered through his mirth.

“I couldn’t resist,” Bucky admitted with a smile on his lips he was trying to chew into submission.

“Good on you, B,” Tony commented, patting Bucky on the shoulder.

“B… B? What is that short for— _baby_?” Clint pestered, eager to give as good as he got with the shot in the ass. Tony noticed Steve in the background freezing up a bit when he caught wind of the meat of the teasing.

“B for _bum-shooter_ ,” Tony piped back, leering at Clint good-naturedly. “How does it feel to be outshone, Barton?”

“Good thing I’m already retired or this would’ve been a real wing-clipper,” Clint interjected with a resigned smile. “If Cap knows what’s good for him, he’s not gonna buddy you, boys, up on the field. It’d be mayhem.”

Tony stole a glance at Bucky who was busy reliving the best moments of the training match with Steve and Nat. There was a genuinely relaxed smile on the boyishly handsome features of the Sergeant’s face. It was hard not to see the charmer that the man once was in that smile.

“Mayhem can be good once in a while,” Tony quietly answered Clint before averting his gaze away from his erstwhile partner with a satisfied grin of his own

-0-0-0-

Tony and Natasha’s heads were close together as they sat next to each other on a small table in the observation deck when Steve walked in on them. Bucky was occupied in the other room in the middle of a session which neither Tony nor Natasha believed Steve could still manage to catch up to considering that the latter would have to come all the way from SHIELD headquarters. Or so they thought.

“How’s the session today?” Steve asked the two.

“According to FRIDAY, it’s a rehashed memory so he’s pretty calm,” Tony replied for both of him and Natasha.

“It’s nice that you could oversee with Nat today, Tony,” Steve remarked, standing close to the glass wall of the observation deck to see how his best friend was doing in the other room. “I didn’t think I’d be able to catch up to the session.”

Shrugging, Tony gestured dismissively and said, “I needed to talk to Natasha. I’m getting a crash course on Russian pronunciation.”

“Making preparations for the reverse engineering proper then? Any word from FRIDAY on how close we are to it?” Steve asked, crossing his arms over his chest and pinching his lower lip with his right thumb and forefinger. He only subtly turned back to the pair but, for the most part, his attention was still on Bucky in the BARF hall.

“Well—we’re getting more and more old memories these past couple of weeks. And that’s a tell-tale indication that we are getting pretty close,” answered Tony, practicing the Russian inflection under his breath. He knew he should have definitely learned Russian on top of Italian and Spanish when he was on his language-learning phase in his early teens. Well, a bit too late now…

Tony Stark may have been too late in some things but not in others. He had definitely come dangerously close to being too late to salvage any relationship with his Avengers family, but at least, these past couple of weeks proved that Rhodey was right: there was nothing broken that couldn’t be fixed. Especially for Tony Stark.

He had to admit that it felt like old times with the team, if not better. He’s been hanging out with them for meals, team bonding things and scheduled team trainings. In the course of hanging out with the team, it couldn’t be helped that Tony’s been inadvertently hanging out with _Steve_ also. Tony tried to convince himself that hanging out with Steve was only incidental to hanging out with the rest of the guys. He wasn’t seeking to hang out with Steve or be with Steve, just the two of them or something. He was still trying to make the most out of Bucky’s advice to note the marked differences between his husband and Steve, but with every passing day he couldn’t tell if he was getting colder or warmer, closer or farther from his objective.

And there was this nagging feeling at the back of his mind that Bucky was trying to push Steve towards Tony by manipulating circumstances so that the Captain would somehow end up sitting next to Tony during meals or by Tony’s feet or beside Tony on that damned love seat during the couple of Movie Nights they’ve had since _The Expendables_ , so much so that the genius was now seriously contemplating blasting that love seat to smithereens with his repulsor.

There was also that suspicion that Steve, for his part, was trying to play matchmaker himself by bringing Tony and Bucky closer. His first clue had been that paintball game-slash-training session they’d had a couple of weeks and some odd days ago.

All in all, it was weird. But things have been more _weird-good_ than weird-bad that Tony really couldn’t complain. If only there were more differences that set this Steve apart from Tony’s husband, then the genius would really be content and happy with how his life was taking a turn for the better…

So far, though, Tony’s only found very few and subtle differences between other-dimension Steve and this Steve:

For one thing, this Steve was more conservative and tended to blush furiously at Tony’s crude and tasteless jokes. Like just a couple of days ago, Tony’d made a joke about some politician and Steve took him completely by surprise when the Captain had commented, “don’t be a dick, Tony.” To which Tony had replied, “well, you’re an _asshole_ , Cap, so I guess that makes us a matching pair then.” And Steve blushed a bright puce before scurrying off to go find the closest church that would take confession or something.

For another thing, this Steve was less likely to cooperate and get involved in the current prank wars between Sam and Scott that was just heating up. The latest prank was when Sam had found all his underwear studded with glittery beading and doused in tubs of glitter. Tony didn’t know—and frankly, didn’t _care_ —how and who started the damn prank war, but he got himself involved by siding with Scott and helping the latter switch the hot and cold shower knobs in Sam’s en suite bathroom with FRIDAY’s help, of course. So, it was completely weird that Cap refused to get involved and would look at them, all unimpressed, as if they were a bunch of naughty children. And hey—even _Clint_ who didn’t even live with them in the same damn house took part in a prank, siding with Sam, so Cap’s non-partisan attitude was really weirding Tony out.

For yet another thing, this Steve was more of a workaholic and less likely to play hooky if his refusal to skive off their SHIELD consultancy two days ago was anything to go by. Tony had invited Steve for some ice cream when they ran into each other at SHIELD HQ, but Steve had had to decline because he’d said he had training to go back to. Tony had joked that Steve wasn’t going to be missing much but another one of the trainees getting their ass shot at, and Steve didn’t even crack a smile. He’d just kindly declined and said that they’d just catch each other at home, and that was that.

O—K.

Dismayed though he was to have to admit it, the genius accepted that Steve was also quite similar to Tony’s husband in many respects: they both have a wry sense of humor; they both have that waste-not-want-not attitude; they were both neat-freaks; they both have simple joys and pleasures; they were both touchy-feely and touch-starved; and they were both uncommonly kind.

The touchy-feely angle was probably the hardest for Tony to have to stomach because this Steve was really, _really_ demonstrative, and he wasn’t the least bit ashamed of it. He liked to touch—check his friends for secret injuries by patting them down, assure them of something they were stressing over with slaps on the back or on the leg or on the bicep, tease them with a flick of a finger to the tip of the nose or a bop on the chin, greet them with a hearty pat to the left pec—unless he was greeting any of the ladies then he would just buss their cheek or give them a hug. Steve. Was so. Touch. Starved. That it was _maddening_!

But the ones doing quite the number on Tony’s mind were the characteristics that were uniquely Steve’s— _this_ Steve. Like Steve’s sweet-tooth that he has no qualms stealing cookies from Sam’s secret stash just to satisfy. Tony’d caught him with his literal hand in the literal cookie jar once and he was somehow roped into secrecy. Like the fact that Steve was ticklish, and Tony only found out when, during training where they had to do one-on-one sparring, the genius accidentally dug an elbow against Steve’s side and the latter positively doubled over with a guffaw that he tried to hide by changing it into a cough. Fat chance.

It was when he noticed those kinds of things about Steve that he was viciously reminded of the precariousness of it all. Essentially, nothing had changed between Steve, Bucky and him yet. Tony was still very much affected by his other-dimension memories; Steve was still pining for his best friend for—what—eighty-two years and counting; and Bucky was still stuck at that crossroads of wanting to get better, wanting to pursue Tony himself and wanting to play matchmaker to Tony and Steve.

But there was no use embroiling himself in things that were out of his control. Tony was more than satisfied to focus on the more pressing matter of Bucky’s imminent reverse engineering and his bridge-mending with his family. Rhodey was currently happy with how the latter was going that he wasn’t giving Tony flak lately, and the latter’s had to marvel at how his days were so much more productive when he wasn’t getting flak and dirty looks from Rhodey about being an unreasonable recluse.

Tony was so immersed in digesting Natasha’s instruction and his own thoughts that he failed to notice that the BARF session was coming to an end and that Nat had already left him and Steve alone in the observation room.

“So… any particular strategy or plan of attack for taking on the reverse engineering proper?” Steve asked, intruding into Tony’s thoughts.

“The notebook is actually very informative. We can take this on using different methods actually. It depends on what our priority is: B’s comfort, the results’ permanence or a quicker fix,” replied Tony, stowing the notebook in the rear waistband of his jeans.

“Hey—uh,” Steve hesitated. “Do you, maybe, wanna talk about that plan of attack—say—over dinner or something?”

“Dinner?” Tony asked, frozen where he stood in confusion.

“Yeah, yeah—dinner,” Steve confirmed, coloring ever so slowly but visibly. “You know, food we eat. At night. In some restaurant—“

“—what, like a _date_?” Tony blurted out before he was aware of what he was saying. Shit! Of course, Steve wasn’t asking him out on a date. Steve wasn’t goddamned in love with him but with Bucky!

“Sure Tony,” Steve answered, sheepish. “Like a date.”

Tony cocked his head to the side as if trying to listen for the ulterior motive to the invitation. Because there was sure to be some kind of motive—there had to be! Unsure of how to deal with the situation exactly, Tony decided to buy himself some elbow room.

“Sure, yeah—OK, on one condition,” Tony remarked. Steve nodded and widened his eyes, prompting the other man. “I get to choose the time, place and date.”

“You got it,” Steve willingly accepted with a gesture before taking leave of Tony.

Much later, as Tony was trying to absent-mindedly figure out what possessed Steve to ask and what possessed him to agree, he was jolted out of his reverie by Bucky’s presence in his workshop, asking him about some issues regarding oversensitivity of the cybernetic arm to texture that he was getting ghost sensations of gooseflesh on a supposedly non-existent arm.

Bucky was right smack in the middle of trying to describe the sensation to Tony when the latter interrupted his spiel by asking, out of the blue, “Would you like to have dinner with me, B?”

“Din—what? _Dinner_?”

Tony was tempted to repeat Steve’s definition of dinner, but he held his tongue. For this to work, he had to get Bucky to agree to go out with him.

“Yeah. Dinner,” confirmed Tony. “So how about it?”

“I guess—sure? Dinner’s—dinner’s— _sure_ ,” the other brunette stammered, working through overcoming his surprise.

“I’ll let you know the date, place and time, OK?”

Bucky bobbed his head in uncertain agreement and then worked to steer the conversation back to his ghost sensations. Tony did his level best to keep listening, but half of his attention was already in the plan half-forming in his overactive brain.

It was time to give as good as he was getting. If Steve and Bucky could try their hands at this matchmaking shtick, then so could Tony. He had a feeling he was going to be really good at it, too. If finding marked differences between the Steves was not working as well as he’d hoped, it was time to start looking at this equation from another angle.


	29. 29. BUCKY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's scheduled dinner date with Bucky ends up rife with surprises, reminiscences and admissions...oh yeah--and there's some _dancing_ , too!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my God, I am so sorry for being delayed on this update for a whopping 11 days!!! My bad, but real life intervened and my schedule during the Easter weekend was packed full, hence, the delay. But I hope that, with this new installment, you guys will come to forgive me. I know you're not expecting an update today, but I gotta get this out into the world so I can move on to the next update because I have schedule to observe...
> 
> This chapter features my sorry attempts at Stucky. Stucky shippers will so notice how much of a poser I am. I apologize in advance because I am a Stony shipper; I *did* try my level-best though...
> 
> So... still in its unbeta-edited glory so if you spot issues and typos and SPaG concerns and plot inconsistencies, please let me know so they can be addressed.
> 
> Thanks to my usual commenters to this piece, you guys uplift my spirit and you never fail to make me smile with your encouraging and kind words, cheer-reading me on this. Appreciate all your feedback, really. And to the new readers, please don't hesitate to make your presence felt. I love meeting new friends through these fanfics. ^_^
> 
> The Comment and Kudos buttons are still there at your disposal. Kindly make use of them because I would love to know what you think. I know it still seems too slow considering that we only have 11 chapters left but everything has been building up to the inevitable end anyway--our boys' happiness. Who gets to be happy with whom, you think?
> 
> Just a gushing side-note: Seb Stan is so friggin' mouth-watering... :-O~~
> 
> Again, I apologize for the delay and I hope you enjoy the rest of the week, my dearests. AND ENJOY this chapter!  
> \---

****“Fry, you’re _sure_ he said that— _Tony_ said that? What were his exact words?” Bucky asked FRIDAY for the nth time. It was only late morning but the former Sergeant felt so harried that it might as well have been late afternoon already. Who knew getting a confirmed invite for dinner with Tony scheduled for later that evening could really turn an otherwise ordinary day in late July completely topsy-turvy?

“ _He instructed me to tell you that Mr. Hogan will be fetching you at 6 in the evening for your dinner later. He said to inform you to dress smart-casually and to make sure to put on sturdy but comfortable shoes,_ ” FRIDAY tirelessly repeated, relaying the exact same message she’s been telling Bucky over and over for the past half hour now.

“Why, in blue-blazin’ hell, would he want me to wear _sturdy but comfortable shoes_? Is he going to make me take a _hike_ somewhere or something?” That didn’t make sense because he was supposed to dress smartly and it was nighttime. So _what the hell_?

“ _I’m afraid he didn’t inform me of the reason, Sergeant._ ” FRIDAY sounded just as stumped as Bucky felt.

Worrying his lips by chewing on them, Bucky walked over to his closet and threw open the doors to what were slim pickings for a smart-casual get-up. He had not exactly had the chance yet to go shopping for a decent 21st century wardrobe since waking up from cryostasis and attending memory alteration sessions; Bucky thought it was perfectly understandable for sartorial concerns to take a backseat to his more pressing problems.

But now that he had a dinner schedule with someone he really liked in less than eight hours, he mostly regretted not having had the foresight to acquire at least a collared top, a decent pair of slacks and some sturdy but comfortable shoes. Well, it was too late now…

“Is anyone even free to talk to after this morning’s alert to assemble?” Bucky asked, getting desperate by the minute that though he knew that an ‘Avengers Assemble’ alert sounded not two hours earlier, he was nevertheless asking FRIDAY if anyone happened to be available to ask help from. He wasn’t too confident that anyone would be, especially if the emergency was large-scale, extinction-level-event kind of thing.

Well if it was, then Tony would likely cancel on him, and it’d turn out that he was worrying about what the hell to wear for tonight for nothing as there might not even _be_ a ‘tonight’ and a tomorrow, for that matter, if some alien civilization has come to wipe the planet off the face of the damn galaxy. Bucky knew he was definitely going bat-shit insane if he were actually half-hoping for an alien invasion to happen to spare him from having to think about what to _wear_ and what might await him in Tony’s company tonight.

“ _The alert to assemble this morning was actually downgraded to a less severe call after it was cleared with the government in question that the emergency was only a level two at most,_ ” the AI very kindly kept Bucky up to speed. “ _War Machine, Vision, and the Scarlet Witch were dispatched to Shanghai, China to make sure that the situation will not escalate._ ”

“Why? What was it even about, Fry? I mean—only if you’re allowed to disclose that information to a non-Avenger like me, that is,” Bucky asked before following it up with a statement that if FRIDAY weren’t actually allowed by her protocols to tell him anything, he wouldn’t hold it against her at all.

“ _It was a terror threat with the same M.O. as in Paris in May of this year and Madripoor after that, in June,_ ” FRIDAY informed. “ _Under the amended Sokovia Accords, the Avengers are obliged to render support only at the behest of the government involved and only with such commensurate force as the emergency requires. There is no use sending the full complement of the Avengers for an unsubstantiated and mostly conjectural terror threat or the team may be made liable under the Accords. The Boss is very particular at toeing the line on that. And he did give you a certain clearance level to prepare you for running missions with the Avengers in the future, Sergeant,_ ” FRIDAY informed him. It was hard not to detect a degree of pride and fondness in the AI’s voice.

“I think we’re still a _long way_ from that, Fry,” Bucky sheepishly replied, scratching at the back of his neck. “Say, if the emergency was called off, then who’s around to ask help from?”

FRIDAY provided him with a choice between Steve, Sam, Natasha, Scott and Tony. Asking Tony for help about what to wear for their dinner later was definitely out of the question, and the idea of asking Steve was surprisingly not sitting well with him, too. Since Sam was quite close to Steve, Bucky imagined that asking him would be just as discomfiting. So, the former Sergeant went with Natasha and Scott.

Bucky surprisingly found an easy affinity with Natasha Romanoff. They might have had a rocky start at the beginning because of Natasha’s innate distrust of him after having had the experience of being ambushed by the Winter Soldier, but the deadly female spy may have seen and sympathized with how Bucky floundered with the HYDRA programming, which enabled her to detach the Winter Soldier from the careworn former World War II Sergeant. It didn’t hurt also that they shared a language and a dark past what with their share of training to make them such deadly assassins. Bucky never _did_ scrutinize and tried to ask her what made her overcome her initial aversion to him; he was just relieved that he didn’t have to contend with a deadly assassin-turned-spy hell bent on some kind of revenge on top of everything he already found himself struggling with.

The closeness to Scott Lang was easier to describe and understand, actually. Scott was a fun-loving, hilarious, happy-go-lucky guy who actually reminded Bucky of the person he once had been before HYDRA, before the war. He liked playing pranks, especially on Sam and, whenever he was around, on Clint. But appearances shouldn’t deceive as behind the façade of mischief, lay a sharp and resourceful mind that even Tony Stark grudgingly held in high regard, though they’ve only known each other quite recently. Another similarity between Scott and Bucky was the fact that, deep inside, they considered themselves ‘outsiders’ to the dynamics that were the Avengers’ because they haven’t been around for very long to know some of the inside jokes, to compare the time _before_ the conflict over the Accords and _after_.

“I don’t think you can wear _ripped jeans_ to dinner in a restaurant… Is it going to be a _formal_ dinner?” Scott observed, wrinkling his nose at a pair of ripped jeans he was holding aloft for Natasha and Bucky to look at.

“I think so. I was told to dress smart-casually,” Bucky lamented, yanking at the offending pair of pants in Scott’s paws. “I wouldn’t know smart-casual in this century if it bit me in the butt cheek.”

“Who asked you to have dinner anyway— _Steve_?” Natasha asked, ruffling through the meager sartorial choices in Bucky’s nearly bare closet with narrowed eyes as if she was considering how best to set everything on fire.

“What—is it so impossible for me to get a dinner date apart from my best friend?” Bucky joked with what he knew was mischief in his eyes to try to hide the heat coloring his cheeks. What would Natasha and Scott think if Bucky revealed that it was _Tony_ who’d asked him out to dinner?

Actually, he, himself, hadn’t really digested that fact yet. Sure, ever since he’d realized that he felt something deeper than affection for Tony Stark, he’d dreamed of being suave enough to ask the billionaire to get a soda, just shoot the breeze or something, but he never really thought that it’d happen. Bucky never thought that Tony would actually trust him enough to ever consider him anything more than a poor, unfortunate soul that he had to save after having been used as an unwitting weapon to off his parents. But then, Tony had asked him, out of the blue, if he’d be interested to have dinner, and Bucky stammered through his assent like a pathetic, lovesick idiot.

Well, Bucky did say that he wasn’t going to be picky when it came to having Tony in his life. He was going to be happy to have Tony in his life in whatever capacity. This dinner invitation may have been something spur-of-the-moment, something brought about by pity or for lack of better things to do on Tony’s part; Bucky didn’t care.

What mattered was how self-consciously gorgeous and earnest Tony was when he blurted out the invitation to Bucky. Tony could have asked him to watch the damn _Home Shopping Network_ with that face and Bucky would have still stammered through his acceptance.

“We didn’t say _that_ ,” cleared Scott with a gesture. “But, you know, if it’s not _Steve_ who’s asked you, why isn’t he the one sorting through this ghastly— _sorry_ —collection of threads then to turn you into Prince Charming?” Scott asked, plopping noisily on Bucky’s bed, and in the process, scattering the few choices that Natasha set aside earlier as the most decent options.

This was followed up by Natasha with: “look—you don’t have to tell us who you’re going out with if you’re not comfortable but—“

“It’s _Tony_ , OK—it’s Tony who asked me,” Bucky finally put his stylists-helpers out of their misery. He didn’t mean to blurt the fact out so impulsively but he felt like he really had to get it off his chest. Besides, if he wanted Scott and Natasha’s help, the least he could do was be honest with them. Also, there was nothing wrong and shameful that it was Tony who’d asked him out. “And I didn’t want to ask Steve because I thought he might still be busy; what with the terror threat that you almost assembled for this morning, I didn’t want to bug him with _what to wear_ or _how to fix my hair_ for my dinner with Tony tonight. But, as you can see, I _really_ do need help, guys, which is why I thought of asking you.”

Bucky didn’t want to be evasive to Scott and Nat about avoiding asking Steve for help, but he felt like he had no choice. He didn’t think he could sufficiently explain to the two the current situation with Steve without taking the whole night and drowning themselves in kegs of vodka while he told them the entire sordid story. Besides, he knew that Scott and Nat were, to a certain extent, quite loyal to Steve that Bucky didn’t think he could bear their disapproving looks if they found out how Steve’s heart was being trampled on by his own best friend, after everything that Steve had sacrificed for him.

Natasha awarded Bucky with a look that unambiguously said that she was unconvinced as to his flimsy excuse about not asking Steve but that she wasn’t going to twist his arm for him to come clean as to the _real_ reason. Chances were she already knew the real reason anyway because she was _Natasha_ and it wasn’t all that difficult for her to get a feel for what the hell was going on between Steve, Bucky and Tony. It was even likely that she knew what the deal was between the three parties involved before they, themselves, had any idea what was happening. Natasha Romanoff was intuitive and too damn observant for her own good like that.

“Yeah, no—asking Steve for fashion advice for a dinner date with _Tony Stark_? Probably a terrible idea,” Scott commented, nodding meaningfully, like it made complete sense that Steve couldn’t be expected to help Bucky to make himself presentable enough for dinner with Tony.

Natasha angled her body towards Scott and stared at the latter, confused. “I’m sorry…but _why_ is asking Steve for fashion advice for a date with Tony such a terrible idea?”

Scott looked from Natasha’s quizzical expression to Bucky’s clueless one and snorted, “wait…don’t tell me the great ninja-spy-assassin Black Widow doesn’t _know_?”

“Know what?” It was Bucky who asked, curious himself.

“When Stark was in that coma, Cap was always watching him—like every waking moment that Cap could spare was spent at Stark’s bedside. And that day that we just arrived here in the compound—remember, that day that Stark flat-lined? I watched y’all’s reaction and Cap really looked _wrecked_. Like he was going to go on a state-wide rampage if Stark ended up kicking the bucket. So…here’s what I think… I think Cap likes Stark—like, _romantically_ , and it’d really be all shades of awkward if Buck here engages Cap’s help to figure out how to look his best on a date with Stark,” explained Scott with a shrug and a purse of his lips.

Well, Bucky wasn’t expecting _that_ …

“ _I_ think you read that wrong, Lang,” criticized Natasha, watching the play of emotions on Bucky’s face from out of the corner of her eye. “It could just as easily have been deep affection for a dear friend…or _guilt_ ,” Natasha suggested, still absent-mindedly rifling through Bucky’s clothing options on the rumpled bed.

“Maybe,” conceded Scott, but following that up with: “but you made the right decision to ask me and Nat instead, Buck. ‘Cause Cap may be a good tactician but he’s not a _magician_ and he can’t conjure a three-piece suit out of this mess you call clothes… Really, would it hurt you so much to buy trousers with _no holes_ in them?”

“Like you can do so much better,” snorted Natasha, trying her best to divert the conversation away from Scott’s conjectures about Steve and Tony. She brushed the longish fringe of dark hair off of Bucky's forehead in the process, too. “And we should really consider trimming your hair, too.”

Bucky let the two fuss over him and debate over what to outfit him with while he thought about what Scott had said. Could it be possible that Steve also has feelings for Tony that the former hasn’t come to terms with or Nat had a point that Steve’s concern was nothing but repressed guilt over what had happened between Steve and Tony because of the Sokovia Accords and Siberia?

Because if it were true that Steve could have bottled-up feelings for Tony and Tony, for his part, also has feelings for Steve, then what _was_ Bucky doing right now, feeling psyched about the billionaire’s dinner invitation when all he was doing was deviating from his plan to push Steve and Tony together?

“Maybe I’d just ask Tony for a raincheck on that dinner?” Bucky suddenly piped up, interrupting Scott and Nat’s debate about how long it’d take them to make a quick run for decent trousers in the nearby town. “I don’t have anything to wear anyway.” His earlier good mood was fast dissipating like fog at daybreak.

“Nonsense,” Natasha reprimanded, which Scott seconded. “Do you _want_ to go to that dinner?”

Bucky nodded, finding that there was nothing he wanted to do more. That despite his own resolve and Scott’s observation, he desperately wanted to spend time with Tony and just forget about all of their baggage and their worries and everything else that was supposed to keep them apart.

“Then don’t let the simple matter of _clothes_ stop you from doing what you want to do,” Natasha so lucidly reasoned, widening his eyes at Bucky to clue him in on the _other thing_ she meant to say. “You’ve had nothing but BARF sessions to look forward to, day in and day out, and we’re far from over until you’re well and truly on your way to recovery. It’ll get worse before it could get better, so don’t deprive yourself of the handful of things that make everything else bearable.”

Of course, Natasha was right. Being around Tony was one of the handful of things that made his dreary days tolerable. He was an idiot of epic proportions if he were to keep himself from one of the few things keeping him sane and fighting tirelessly to regain what he’d lost of himself. Friends could still have dinner with each other and have fun in each other’s company, couldn’t they?

Tomorrow, he could plague himself all he wanted about Scott’s observations, what it might imply and what he intended to do about it. For tonight, he and Tony would enjoy themselves. As friends.

-0-0-0-

When Bucky stepped out of the residential building dressed in dark denim jeans, white button-down, [long-sleeved shirt](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/2b/80/50/2b805055b72c3df674d29ceb9694ad51.jpg) with sleeves folded up to his elbows, and leather boots—that was both sturdy and comfortable—that Scott loaned him for the night, the car that Tony promised to be there was already idling in the driveway. Bucky nodded towards Tony’s trusted friend and occasional chauffeur, Happy Hogan, who had the rear door of the car open and waiting for its passenger.

With his metallic fingers, Bucky fingered the leather bracelet on his flesh wrist, similarly loaned from Scott. Both of his stylists had been of the opinion that they needed the attention drawn away from his metal arm and towards other parts of him so they did what they could to spiff him up, including adorning his flesh wrist with a very manly accessory, which Bucky had to grudgingly admit was kind of sexy against his pale skin.

[His hair had also been trimmed](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/24/e1/2d/24e12df4dd56b62fbebb00e3771e1538.jpg) and coiffed to Natasha’s specific tastes that she said both fit him and accentuated his powerful jaw, slight cleft chin and good-looking face that had now lost its haunted aura in exchange for a serene and contented expression that Bucky never thought he would get to see again on his own face, looking at the mirror to check that the haircut indeed fit him.

All that was left to do now was to look confident than he actually felt. If only he could channel even a fraction of the old Bucky’s self-confidence and swagger, then he would feel less like the night was leading towards some kind of catastrophe.

“Shouldn’t we wait for Tony?” Bucky asked as soon as Happy was, himself, settled on the driver’s seat.

“He only told me to make sure you were fetched. He had to go to midtown earlier, and I think he will be coming from there. Ready to go?” Happy remarked, meeting his eyes through the rearview mirror. Bucky responded with a nod and a small smile.

As it turned out, their destination was an old-fashioned dance club, _‘Gators_ , located at the basement of a quaint-looking brownstone in the fringes of midtown. It only then occurred to Bucky why Tony wanted him to wear sturdy but comfortable shoes because they were going to spend the night dancing!

Just as Bucky was disembarking from the car, the door of which Happy insisted he hold open himself for his lone passenger, Happy pushed a sleek smartphone into Bucky’s flesh hand. “Tony told me to make sure you have this so he could contact you, you know, in case he gets held up or something,” Happy explained with a slight wink of his eyes. Bucky, mumbling his thanks, slipped the smartphone in the right rear pocket of his jeans before tentatively making his way to the stone steps that would lead him from ground level to the entrance of the dance club.

Crossing the threshold into the club seemingly transported Bucky to the roaring 20s. The cobalt-blue mirrored walls, velvet-upholstered chairs and couches flanking round wood tables in the individual booths and the gold and silver chandeliers hanging from the stone ceilings at strategic intervals all lent to convey that the premises had more space than it did. Even the patrons lingering by the entrance and in the perimeter of the dance floor were dressed in the old-fashioned style that Bucky had been used to, growing up in the late 20s to the 30s. There were men in waistcoats and fedoras, women in faux fur, feather boas, lace skirts that were shorter in front than at the back, floral dresses with hemlines that made Bucky do a double-take and blush. For the most part, though, the club-goers were dressed in the styles of the current millennium, so Bucky wasn’t alone in his otherwise tame clothing ensemble. Because of the colorfully-dressed crowd, muted lighting and the thousand and one other things to see around the pre-World War II-themed dance club, the novelty of Bucky’s cybernetic arm went unnoticed, for the most part.

An usher took Bucky’s name and thereafter led him to a booth at the far corner, sharing a wall with the bar that was lit up with mood lights to accentuate the different-sized bottles with different colored contents of liquor. The display reminded Bucky again that he hasn’t exactly been transported back to the age of Prohibition; this day and age didn’t have qualms about getting pissed. Another reminder of where—and _when_ —he was was the fact that there were just as many same-sex couples dancing with each other and enjoying themselves on the black-and-white checkered dance floor.

Bucky was immediately served with a chilling bottle of champagne and a platter of snacks to nibble on while he waited for his companion for the night.

It was a testament either to the less ear-damaging music of the themed club or to the former Sergeant’s sharp hearing that he heard the phone at the back pocket of his jeans chirp. The screen displayed a picture of Tony Stark with a mischievous lop-sided grin. It was a good thing he’s seen enough of the Avengers picking up calls from their own smartphones for him to know what to do to take this call. “Tony? Hello?”

“Hi ya’, B,” Tony’s now-familiar voice emanated from the phone. “You already at the place?”

“Yeah,” Bucky replied with a fond smile even though he knew Tony couldn’t see it.

“How do you like it? D’you have your dancing shoes ready?”

“Seems interesting. I’m wondering why you picked this place. Whatever gave you the _wrong_ notion that I can dance?” Bucky joked. “Are you on your way yet?”

“I’m gonna be a couple minutes late. I’m really sorry, B, but there’s an emergency in the manufacturing line that needs my attention before I can hightail it outta here,” explained Tony with a vaguely apologetic tone that was uncharacteristic of him. “Give me a couple more minutes, yeah?”

“Take all the time you need, T; I’ll just be here,” _I’ll wait for you_ , Bucky said except for the last part which he only said under his breath. Of course, he’d wait for Tony because Tony was worth waiting for.

“I have a surprise for you,” Tony announced, humor writ clear in his voice at the other end of the line.

“What is it?” Bucky didn’t want to sound too excited, but he heard in his voice how much he was.

“You’ll see,” assured Tony. “I’m still ironing out some kinks, but… I think you’ll really like it. Hey… save a dance for me OK, B?”

“So what do you think I should say if someone asks me for a dance in the meantime?” Bucky braved some flirting. Friends could still flirt with each other, couldn’t they?

“ _Don't forget who's takin' you home and in whose arms you're gonna be. Darlin' save the last dance for me,_ ” Tony crooned with obvious mirth that the distance and the background noise couldn’t mask. “If someone asks you, don’t be a snob. Remember, you’re there to have fun.”

Bucky knew what he was really there for though. Or rather _who_ he was there for…

“My surprise is on the way,” Tony continued. “I’ll see you later, OK?”

“OK, T,” Bucky answered. He slipped the phone back to his back pocket and contented himself with looking at the people enjoying themselves around him. He was just starting to wonder what Tony’s surprise could possibly be when he caught sight of a familiar head of blonde hair and powerfully-built shoulders parting the crowd on the dancefloor to look for a vacant booth.

 _Steve_? What was Steve doing there?

Straightening his shoulders, Bucky tried to catch Steve’s eye so his friend could approach him and they could get to chatting about what on earth Steve was doing there. When Steve was already dead ahead of him, he gave a tentative wave and a small grin.

“Buck? Oh wow… What—what are you doing here?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” Bucky answered, gesturing for his friend to take a load off and seat himself on the booth where Bucky happened to be alone, for now. “Are you here with somebody? Are you here with Sharon?” Well, it was only natural for Bucky to think of Sharon first, wasn’t it, as he believed she was the only one Steve was seeing?

“Ah no, I, uh—I’m waiting for someone else,” Steve said, evasively. “Someone from work—from SHIELD.” Steve was momentarily distracted as he fished his own phone from his pocket. He looked at who was calling and apologetically told Bucky, “hold that thought, Buck. I gotta take this call—one sec.”

Steve stepped away from Bucky to stand in a relatively secluded patch of floor at the end of the bar, holding the phone close to his ear with one hand and, with the other, stuffing a finger in his other ear in efforts to hear the conversation better. Steve seemed tense, so Bucky concluded that it had something to do with whoever it was he was supposed to be meeting there or whoever it was at the other end of the that phone line. Or _both_. Bucky hoped to God that Steve wasn’t being ditched. He didn’t know what was worse: having an accidental, three-way dinner date with Steve _and_ Tony, like sitting on the love seat one too many times during Movie Night wasn’t excruciating enough; or having a date with Tony after knowing full well that Steve got stood up in the worst way.

But Bucky knew that his worst suspicions were confirmed when Steve ended the call with an unqualifiedly crestfallen expression on his face. Before Bucky could have a chance to call out to Steve to try to sympathize with him, however, his own smartphone he’d stuffed in the back pocket of his jeans gave a shrill chirp again.

It was Tony again.

“Heya B,” Tony greeted him again for the second time in a matter of half an hour, but this time his voice was serious and held none of the playfulness from earlier on. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to take a raincheck on that dance…”

Bucky’s hold on the phone tightened while he listened to Tony. He tried to rein in his disappointment though he couldn’t help but be even more so with every second that passed. He had so been looking forward to spend time outside of the facility with Tony, even just as a friend, but even that simple wish was not to be. He refrained from having to voice the said disappointment; he didn’t want Tony to know how much Bucky’d had his heart set on being with Tony tonight.

Tony kept on explaining that something or other had broken in the manufacturing line of a product that was slated for launch soon and that the breakdown turned out to be much more serious than he initially thought, which necessitated that he get his hands dirty with the hours-long repair. For his part, Tony sounded apologetic and quite disappointed, too, that he would have to let Bucky down this time. He also made profuse promises to make it up to the Sergeant, one way or another, for leaving the latter hanging.

“—anyway, I reckon you won’t have to let the rest of the night go to waste. You deserve to relax and dance your worries away. Oh and give my regards to Cap, all right?” Tony remarked, surprising Bucky. How could Tony have known that Steve was there?

“How did you—“

“—I gotta go, B. Promise that you’ll enjoy the rest of the evening even without me?” Tony interrupted hurriedly.

“I—I… yeah, yeah I will, T. Take care o’yourself,” was all that Bucky came up with.

“I’ll see you back at the house as soon as I’m done here,” Tony reassured before ending the call.

Bucky, for a moment, wordlessly stared at his phone, dumbstruck, after the call ended. There were so many questions in his mind despite Tony’s protracted explanations for his absence, most important of which was how the hell did Tony know that Steve was there in the dance club?

“Is that the one you’re meeting? They on the way?” Steve intruded into Bucky’s stormy thoughts.

“Y—yeah, that was—that was them. They just called to cancel. Apparently, something came up,” Bucky explained; every word left a bad taste in Bucky’s mouth. “What about whoever _you’re_ meeting?”

“Same. I’m getting ditched,” Steve said with a dejected shrug. “D’you—do you want to leave if you’re not waiting for someone anymore or maybe we can grab some food and make the most out of this—“ he said, gesturing to the hopping place around them, “—since we’re already here anyway?”

_“Promise that you’ll enjoy the rest of the evening even without me?”_

“Well, I guess—you know…since we’re already here anyway,” conceded Bucky, motioning for a roaming waiter to give their food orders. Steve gingerly sat down opposite Bucky in the booth, in the meantime.

“So, Stevie… Whose idea was it for you to go here: you or the person you were supposed to meet?” Bucky teased with what he was sure was a twinkle in his eyes. “’Cause I don’t remember you being a fat cat at all.”

Steve visibly colored at that, which, even in the ever-changing light and shadow on both of their faces because of the lighting of the club, Bucky had no difficulty noticing. “It was To—uh—the idea of the one I was supposed to meet. He must have thought it would be a real hoot.”

“It’s a _he_ , huh?” Bucky continued to ask teasingly. “And you work together at SHIELD? It’s not one of your trainees, is it?”

“Hell no,” vehemently denied Steve. “I wouldn’t go out with someone I’m supposed to be training. That can’t be ethical,” continued the blonde. “What about you? Who were you supposed to meet here anyway—I mean, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Ah what the hell— “I was supposed to meet Tony, actually. But he called to say that something broke down in the manufacturing line or something so he won’t be able to make it…”

Steve perceptibly gulped and was instantly tenser than he already was before mumbling, “oh!” There was short period of edgy silence while both men tried to think of what to talk about apart from getting ditched by their respective ‘dates’.

“I heard from FRIDAY that there was an Avengers emergency earlier today. How’d you guys resolve it?” Bucky asked, leaning forward on his elbows on the table. Steve looked relieved for the nice save by Bucky from conversation oblivion and started to discuss the particulars of that morning’s near-assembly.

The conversation between the two old friends flowed more smoothly from there and they were soon talking about the more recent pranks out of the prank war between Sam and Scott, the funnier mishaps during team trainings, books that both Steve and Bucky have been reading, movies that both of them have seen recently, Steve’s SHIELD consultancy, Bucky’s recent BARF sessions of rehashed memories, but mostly, they reminisced and the memories of times past and people long gone turned out to be even more enjoyable for the two of them.

“—and then Stella went like ‘you punk that had stolen a kiss from me’ and Becca defended by saying ‘but no, my brother couldn’t have stolen a kiss from you ‘cause your buck teeth would have stopped that!’” Bucky practically howled while Steve tittered with a slight shake of his head.

“Yeah, I remember Becca being mighty protective of you even though you are older. But did you, though?”

“Did I what?”

“Steal a kiss from Stella Glarmensaul,” clarified Steve with an amused twinkle in his own blue eyes.

“Hell no! I didn’t like Stella at all. I thought she was a real dumb Dora. All dolled-up on the outside with nothing but air up top,” complained Bucky. “Contrary to what you might think, Stevie, I like my dames with both class and substance outta their mouths,” the Sergeant continued with a firm nod.

They kept talking about their classmates in middle and high school over fried chicken wings, flavored fries, nachos and ice-cold beers that both of them could throw back like nobody’s business considering that both of them had the high metabolisms of super soldiers. They could eat a truck’s worth of chicken wings and a container van’s mass in beer for days on end and not be affected in the slightest.

“—but didn’t we double date with Hetty that one time? With her cousin from outta town, d’you remember her?” Bucky asked, brandishing a half-eaten chicken wing towards Steve.

“The one from Ohio, Claudine—“

“—Claudine.” They both said at the same time.

“Yeah, we did. She wasn’t very happy about that. Claudine’s had her eye on you from the moment she started calling the tenement home for the summer,” Steve answered. “She couldn’t believe her rotten luck when, on the double date, it was _Hetty_ you went out with and she got saddled with me.”

“She didn’t know what she let slip between her fingers, that’s for damn sure,” Bucky said with an audible ‘tsk’. “Well—dintcha get to dance with her then? She was a flapper; she coulda done her country some service by teaching you how to use them legs o’yours for dancin’.” Bucky motioned towards Steve with a cock of his head. Both of their Brooklyn brawls were much more pronounced talking to each other, here in a club that took them back in time to when they were happy-go-lucky young men in the cusp of war and poverty who used to use dates with their female contemporaries in clubs like this to escape from their miserable lives.

“She didn’t. She couldn’t wait to get rid o’me. You threw me under the bus when you left with Hetty to go make out somewhere else,” accused Steve with a petulant cross of his arms over his chest. The incident was over eighty years ago, but the banter never got that old. “Now that you’ve reminded me, I oughtta get back at you for that…somehow.”

“Captain America _never_ learned how to dance?! You got to take a swing _at_ Hitler a shitload of times but never tried to swing _with_ a dame? You gotta be kidding me!” Bucky mock-lamented. “Well—come on, you…”

“ _What_?!”

“We have a perfectly serviceable dancefloor over there and some good music; let’s get them gams movin’. You wanna be hittin’ on all sixes the next time your special SHIELD fella asks you out here again,” Bucky brushed his hands on the thighs of his jeans, rising from his seat, and tugged on Steve’s wrist. “Get a wiggle on, Stevie…” Bucky urged with a good-natured smile on his face.

“Buck, I don’t think—“ Steve tried to interject, hesitant, but Bucky refused to hear any of it.

They found themselves a patch of dancefloor adjacent to some same-sex dancing couples, and Bucky offered, “I’ll be the dame, OK? You lead. Don’t worry, I’ll guide you.” He threaded his metal fingers with Steve’s and started to show him the basic steps to a swing. “You go ahead and be better than me at everything else, but I’m fairly sure I can run circles around you when it comes to _dancing_ , punk.”

Steve looked both amused and aghast, but he didn’t have the heart to tell Bucky that they should just go back to their table and forget about dancing. Steve humored him and, nodding to the count of the steps, went through the rudimentary moves that, for a first timer, was not shabby at all. Save for the redness on the Captain’s face, he was all for making complete fools of themselves by dancing the swing with Bucky in a packed dance club.

Steve swung Bucky out before pulling him back in and catching him at the waist with the brunette’s side pressed against the blonde’s front and Steve’s breath warm against the shell of Bucky’s ear. But before Bucky could really think about the shiver running up his spine because of that momentary sensation, Steve twirled him once and actually burst out laughing in the tangle of limbs they’d found themselves in. Perhaps he wasn’t expecting to enjoy dancing, and dancing with Bucky at that, but he was.

Bucky reveled in the moment as well. When they were young men, contact like this between men was relegated to dark corners, empty alleys, behind locked doors, never to be spoken about again. But now, here they were, out in the open, in the middle of a damn crowd, holding each other and fitting together like Bucky never expected they would. Steve had only ever been his best and greatest friend. He was the most important man in Bucky’s life save only for the latter’s _father_ , but considering the times they grew up in, it had never occurred to Bucky that Steve could be…well… _more_ than just his best and greatest friend.

Something began to burgeon in Bucky’s chest, both aching and rapturous at the reminder that this man, this one—right here, had confessed to being in love with him. And maybe, Tony _was_ right, it wasn’t any hardship at all to learn to love Steve Rogers back; Bucky had always _loved_ him anyway already—not in the way Steve wanted. _Not yet_. But there was _something_ , all right—something that even Bucky couldn’t readily explain and dismiss out of hand.

If only Bucky could overcome the belief that Steve was only hung up on the person that Bucky used to be, the person that the Captain remembered and assumed was still buried deep, deep down in the Winter Soldier persona that HYDRA’d turned Bucky into, maybe then Bucky could begin to get to know Steve again and learn to love him. In the way that he deserved to be loved.

But what about _Tony_? Could Bucky simply discount what he was feeling for the genius-billionaire? And what about what Tony, in turn, felt for Steve? Bucky had this inkling that if he were to try to learn to love Steve, it was decidedly _selfish_ on his part for a variety of reasons. Then again, wasn’t it equally selfish to pursue Tony knowing how it would hurt Steve?

Maybe the three of them were never meant to get their heart’s desire. Maybe this was Bucky’s comeuppance for his many, many sins? Bucky wasn’t meant to make Steve happy by reciprocating his love; and neither was Bucky meant to make Tony happy by being the one who would convince him that he was worth it. Maybe Bucky was meant to be alone?

_“Promise that you’ll enjoy the rest of the evening even without me?”_

Jesus, why would he insist on torturing himself like this when he was supposed to be enjoying himself? It was too early to think about relationship goals anyway because the hard part of his rehabilitation was only just about to begin! Shaking his negativity away inwardly, Bucky focused on relishing dancing and goofing around with Steve, perfectly content to ignore now the fluttering in his stomach that his best friend’s touches caused.

The two decided to take a walk around Central Park after they got their fill of dancing and good food at _‘Gators_. They had even more reminiscences to share, walking around the familiar paths, walkways and grassy inclines of the park that, back in their childhood days, they took to exploring whenever they had time in their hands to make the journey from Brooklyn. To the underprivileged, near-malnourished children that they used to be, going to Central Park was always an adventure—an escape from their hard up lives. Oh, they had such stories to remember and adventures lived under the canopy of trees in this sprawling place!

“Not too disappointed that your fella ditched you, are you?” Bucky asked, absent-mindedly kicking a pebble while he and Steve made their way down a vaguely familiar path.

“Considering the substitute? No,” Steve answered with a pensive smile, watching Bucky kick the pebble a certain distance down the path and catch up to it to kick it anew. “I’m not Tony Stark but I hope the night wasn’t too shabby for you either?”

“Hey, I made a _dancer_ outta Captain America, didn’t I? So, no—this night wasn’t shabby at all,” teased Bucky with a snicker. “’s just like old times, when we used to hang out and explore places together…”

“Maybe not _too much_ like old times,” countered Steve. “When the dames used to hang around you all the time and you just carted me along, practically throwing me at one o’them and hoping I’d stick,” reminisced Steve, shaking his head in amusement.

“You know why those outings are still so memorable to me?” Bucky asked after a moment of pensive silence, stuffing his hands in pockets, suddenly hesitant. “It wasn’t because of those dames or where we went or what crazy thing we did… It was because we were _together_ , the two of us. It was _being with you_ that made those adventures special, Stevie,” admitted Bucky, knowing with dead certainty that every word was the God’s honest truth.

Steve angled his body towards Bucky and met his eyes. The Captain smiled softly in understanding. “You know it’s the same for me, too, don’t you?” Steve asked, averting his eyes from his friend to look at the ground while they kept on walking. “I like remembering the old days with you, which I know probably gives you the impression that I’m hung up about the past so much, and to a certain extent, maybe I am, but can I tell you something?”

Bucky looked at Steve quizzically and shrugged his go-ahead.

“I like this Bucky better. This person right here beside me. I will always love the old Bucky; I will always remember him and miss him, but this person that you’ve become—with his strength of heart and spirit despite everything he’s been through, he’s like the old Bucky and more. I want to get to know him, protect him, love him. Because he’s worth it. _Exactly_ the way he is.

“If I’ve given you the impression that I’m still hell-bent on getting the old you back, I apologize, but I want you to know that that’s not true. Whoever you decide you are, Buck, I’ll always be here for you,” Steve assured with a sincere and radiant smile that was characteristically his even when they were mud-covered, buck-toothed kids. “Until the end of the line.”

Surging forward, Bucky enveloped Steve in a tight embrace and kissed the latter’s cheek, blinking away the prickling in his eyes. How could he have ever doubted and suspected Steve of only caring for the person he used to be? No matter, there was no doubt in his mind now. He was so giddy-happy that his skin tingled and his heart felt full. He knew deep in his heart that he could take on whatever was still coming by way of his recovery because he had the best friends _and family_ around him.

For the first and probably the only time, he actually felt thankful for what HYDRA had done to him. Because if they hadn’t used him, he doubted he could’ve found himself in this place and time, reunited with his best friend and in the company of a family that knew and understood how damaged he was but, at the same time, how desirous he was to discover himself again. Discover not the person he used be, but the person he _chose_ to be.

“Yeah, even the long hair that makes you look like a _girl_.” Steve steered them away from the sentimentality with a teasing insult.

“What?! I _do not_ look like a girl, you punk,” Bucky petulantly huffed, self-consciously raking a hand through his newly-trimmed but still quite long hair. “Besides, have you seen a girl with guns like these?” Bucky asked, flexing his formidable biceps.

“Yeah—no, I’m sorry but you do, Buck. You’ve always been a pretty boy,” countered Steve with a mock coo.

“Who said I was a _pretty boy_? I bet it was _Wilson_ ,” Bucky spat with a menacing growl.

“Mrs. Haversham from around the corner from your parents’ always thought so,” Steve reminisced again. “She always referred to you as ‘that pretty boy who helped me cross the street’ or ‘that pretty boy who helped me water my hydrangeas’. It was _always ‘that pretty boy’_ ,” Steve said, imitating the old lady’s falsetto and beating Bucky to the pebble the brunette has been kicking to kick it himself.

“You did not just call me _pretty boy_ on the word of an old lady who had glasses so thick, it could catch cable!” Bucky protested, pushing against Steve playfully as they kept on walking the pathways of their youth, joking and laughing like old times if not better than.


	30. 30. STEVE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reverse engineering of the Winter Soldier begins. And what is General Ross up to now, the asshole...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update!!! In effort to try to keep us within our regular (weekly) posting schedule, I typed up a storm to deliver this one. Questionable medical science on this chapter so, please, suspend your judgment on the medical processes set forth in this one. HOWEVER, I would still enjoy any comments and feedback on the matter of plot, SPaG and story consistency... And now that we are down to 10 remaining chapters, how is this looking like to you?
> 
> Thanks go to the regular commenters and cheer-readers of this story, we are well into the homestretch now. We will soon be put out of our collective misery.
> 
> The bit with Ross is not a surprise plot element as I've been doing some planting all throughout the story, which I hope you were able to pick up on. 'Cause if they were too subtle, then--damn--I screwed up on the plot planting... Well... I know I'm no JKRowling, but I did try... with this plot development, it doesn't mean I'd be letting up on the romance and pairing them up with each other, so the first angle to the OT3 is coming... keep your eyes peeled...
> 
> BTW, Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 was already released here in my country and it was EFFIN' AWESOME. 9/10, easy... Be sure to catch it!!! Star-Lord, Rocket and Baby Groot are <3\. I won't spoil anymore, but it was really enjoyable...
> 
> Anyway, enjoy the rest of your weekend, my dearests and I hope this coming week will be fruitful and kind to us all! Enjoy this chapter y'all!  
> \---

****Steve breathed another deep sigh in effort to calm his own nerves to no avail. He wasn’t the one at the cusp of undergoing a mentally and emotionally trying procedure, but he couldn’t help but be jittery himself. What they were looking to execute was previously unheard of, unprecedented and, in a word, _dangerous_. They couldn’t afford to make any missteps because there was life and sanity at stake.

Not just anyone’s, too, but _Bucky’s_.

Steve had braved the war, Nazis, HYDRA and the Red Skull, the 21st century, the Chitauri, Ultron’s robot army and everything else besides, but he had never felt more scared than he did now. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Tony and the rest of their small team, but because no matter how prepared and knowledgeable they all were, a number of things could still go wrong. And any progress they may have achieved in the matter of the Winter Soldier may all be for naught if they made even one, minor miscalculation…

Steve wrung his hands into fists at his sides, chewed the insides of his mouth, clenched and unclenched his jaw in trepidation, trying to keep his emotions at bay so as not to put the rest of the team on edge more than they already were.

“Anxious, Cap?” Tony asked, walking up to stand next to him with an uncharacteristically serious countenance.

For the first time in so many months, the two of them, along with the rest of the Barnes Rehab Team and Bucky, of course, were in the laboratory that was usually for the use of one Dr. Helen Cho, in the administration building of the Avengers compound. Helen has been in Seoul for almost a week now, where she would be for at least seven more weeks, and Tony had asked her permission to use her laboratory for the next phase of Bucky’s rehabilitation. Her work as a physician and geneticist ensured that her space had all the necessary equipment and implements to monitor vital signs, chemical and electrical neural synapses and other pertinent bodily reactions. The team elected to hold the next phase of the reverse engineering process somewhere else—a smaller, more intimate, _easily defensible_ place, that had more security features and less access by unnecessary people, instead of the BARF hall both for Bucky’s protection and to decrease the potential for human injuries should anything _unfortunate_ happen.

When Tony had the new Avengers facility refurbished, he discussed with Steve that he’d designed the administration building to have the most formidable security and protective measures because almost all of their non-Enhanced support staff stayed in the administration building for their work, not to mention the servers, data banks, generators, and other bleeding-edge data gathering equipment and hardware were all housed in the same building. So it was only natural that they would want the utmost protection for those ‘assets’.

“Aren’t you?” Steve replied with another question, angling his body so he could look directly at Tony. Sure, the man looked serious but instead of apprehension, there was resoluteness burning in the genius’ honey-brown eyes.

“I’m fucking terrified; I’m half a minute away from soiling my pants,” admitted Tony, following it up, however, with, “but everything we’ve done these past four months has been leading up to this. We’re into the homestretch and we can’t afford to choke now, or all of Bucky’s pain and hard work ever since we started down this road will have been for nothing.”

Tony crossed his arms over his chest and, with his right thumb and forefinger, pinched his lower lip while Steve turned to look back at what they were supposed to be overseeing, which was Stephen attaching sensor nodes all over Bucky’s temples, his scalp and the base of his head that would relay his brain activity to an upgraded electroencephalography machine; blood pressure cuffs and a finger clip that would connect their patient to the heart monitor. There was also going to be an IV line where a powerful sedative strong enough to knock out a super soldier could be administered within milliseconds should a surprise appearance by the Winter Soldier occur.

“Thank you, Tony,” Steve suddenly blurted out, shattering the terse silence. “I know I’ve said it before, but God knows, I don’t say it enough… Thank you for what you’ve done and what you’re still doing for him.” He said this, softly, while his eyes remained fixed on Bucky and Stephen.

He half-expected Tony to be flippant about the thanks thrown his way, like the genius always had been whenever Steve tried to thank him in the past, telling Steve to thank him at some other—more appropriate—time. Instead, Tony replied with what sounded like a long-suffering sigh. “Your friend is a good man, and he didn’t deserve what HYDRA had done to him. Every second I’ve been spending helping him is worth it,” Tony said without any hesitation.

There was no reason to doubt Tony’s sincerity about Bucky deserving every bit of his efforts to make things better. The genius-billionaire had really gone above and beyond what was expected of an altruistic man in helping Bucky, considering where they were a little over a year ago. Steve acknowledged that Bucky was making leaps and bounds in his recovery largely because of Tony’s friendship. Those two have really come to regard each other deeply.

But not deep enough for Tony to reconsider Steve’s request on the night of his birthday. Bucky, for his part, thought he could be a sneaky punk by pushing Steve and Tony together, and he thought—what—that Steve wouldn’t notice?!

Now, _Tony’s_ also decided to join the matchmaking fray by setting Bucky up with Steve, too!

Although they haven’t talked about the stunt that the genius-billionaire had pulled in _‘Gators_ , ditching both Steve _and_ Bucky for supposedly separately-scheduled dinner dates and driving the two of them to hang out with each other instead, the Captain could still remember how the phone call between him and Tony had gone when the latter had cancelled on him.

“Do you have eyes on Bucky yet?” Tony had asked after confirming that Steve was already at _‘Gators_.

Steve’s eyes narrowed at that. “How did you know that Buck would be here?”

“Because I’m supposed to meet him there.” Well, at least he hadn’t attempted to lie to Steve through his teeth… “Which is why I scheduled _our_ dinner at exactly the same time, at the exact same place. I have a feeling you will be better company for him, Cap. You can thank me later—“

“—Tony, it’s _you_ he’d be expecting to be here—“

“—but _I_ can’t be there, and _you_ are,” Tony had argued, persuasively. “Besides, don’t think for one second that I don’t know what you two are up to. Consider this as payback for what you think were subtle maneuvers at matchmaking, which, for the record, really weren’t.” Steve could almost imagine Tony’s bitch face that surely came with that statement. “And let’s not kid ourselves, Cap—we, both of us, know who it really is you would rather go out to dinner with, and it’s not me…”

Steve had tightened his hold on his phone when he heard the words Tony’d left unsaid in between the spoken ones. He wanted to tell Tony that he was wrong, that that wasn’t true at all. But he didn’t know what made the words die in his throat.

“You, boys, enjoy the rest of the night, all right?” Tony had remarked after that tense period of silence with no hint of forced levity, which Steve was half-hoping, for reasons unknown, the brunette’s voice would betray. “And Steve—“ Tony immediately interjected, “you waited over _eighty years_ for this chance; you’ve both been through hell and back, and _he’s_ going to go through even more hell for the rest of his treatment… As the one who knows him best, you’d know what to do and what to say to keep him going. Don’t let anything hold you back.” 

_“It’s a crying shame, isn’t it—to do everything you can to make someone happy while watching them do everything they can for the happiness of somebody else?”_

Steve had remembered the statement from the night of his birthday and the bittersweet look in Tony’s eyes when he’d said it, and Steve gulped, torn. Maybe Tony really was getting a handle on his memories from the other dimension and there was nothing for Steve to feel guilty about…

But then, why had he felt so… _disappointed_ that Tony was ditching him?

“— _Tony_ —“

“—I gotta run, Cap. Catch you later.”

And Steve hadn’t told Bucky that it was Tony who was supposed to meet him, too. For the life of him, he didn’t know why he’d held his tongue from revealing that to Bucky. Perhaps it was because Steve didn’t want Bucky to feel like he’d been played like bongo drums into spending the night with the blonde instead? Or perhaps because he didn’t want Bucky to detect the regret in his voice that Tony’d manipulated him and _then_ ditched him?

Wrenching himself back to the present and the looming challenge that awaited them, Steve said, “Your friendship means so much to Buck,” pausing momentarily before plowing on further by continuing with, “as it does to me...”

“You—” Tony turned back to him with a wry smile, “—are _way_ too sentimental this morning. Really, Cap—I don’t remember you being this melodramatic when you’re anxious.”

“It’s ‘cause I’ve never _been_ this anxious,” clarified Steve, biting his lower lip. The show of weakness left a bad taste in his mouth. If there was any time when he needed to be strong for Bucky, now was it. “Tell me that everything’ll be all right and I’ll believe you, Tony.”

“It’ll be all right,” reassured Tony with thin-lipped grin. “Buckster’s strong, and he’ll keep being strong until all this is over.”

“He’s all set, Anthony,” Stephen called from the heart of the room where Bucky was lying prostrate on the bed, already hooked to the necessary equipment that would be monitoring his body’s reactions. The other brunette’s face displayed none of the nervousness Steve knew the former felt, and for that, Steve admired his best friend even more.

Tony took a couple of steps away from Steve to stand closer to the heart of the room and address everyone then present so they’d all be on the same page as to what they were going to attempt to do that day. “So…here we are on the first day of the next phase of Bucky’s rehabilitation. What we’re going to try to do here is to identify the neural pathways that each Winter Soldier programming word activates. As we all know there are ten Russian words, the full recitation of which triggers the Winter Soldier persona who becomes subservient to the one who activated him and has nothing of Bucky’s memories and personality.

“Think of it like this: Bucky is a Christmas tree, wrapped around which are different sets of Christmas lights. We have the Bucky lights and the Winter Soldier lights. When the Winter Soldier lights are on, the Bucky lights short-circuit and die. Now, each programming word is kinda like a… _light bulb_ lighting up in the Winter Soldier circuit, activating a certain area in the brain. The words, when said in a particular order, create a _series circuit_ of light bulbs. Skip a word and the circuit remains open; the Winter Soldier lights are not turned on. Complete the words and the circuit is closed; the Winter Soldier lights start blazing; he is now a subservient machine ready for control, and the _Bucky_ lights completely go bye-bye.

“Back to what we’re going to attempt to accomplish… _We must not let the circuit close_. We either smash the light bulbs or blow the wiring connecting them to one another all to hell.

“Now for our respective duties: Nat, you are on subduing duty. The moment that there’s a threat, initiate lockdown and all the secondary security measures that this room is armed with. Keep the threat inside by all means available to you and your training. Steve, you are primarily for support and secondarily to subdue. Since we’re dealing with tinkering with electro-chemical activity in the brain, let’s just assume that Bucky will be in a lot of pain. So, do what you must to enable him to manage it—hold his damn hand, coo and gurgle at him as if he were a crying baby if you have to, we will suspend judgment and nothing about that is coming out of this room. Strange, you are in physician mode with our patient’s brain activity and vital signs, and if anything unfortunate were to happen that either Nat or Steve cannot stop, you’re to transport the Winter Soldier in the mirror dimension where he won’t be able to hurt anyone. Wanda, yours is the most important duty. Being capable of neural electric interfacing, you’re going to have to hijack Bucky’s brain to identify the neural synapses and pathways—destroy either the light bulb itself or the wiring connecting the bulbs to one another once they manifest. As for me, Nat has taught me Russian pronunciation and inflection to the best of her ability, plus our patient happens to love my voice, so _I_ will be reading the trigger words,” Tony recited, meeting each of their eyes in turn as he told them their roles. “Questions? Concerns? Violent reactions?”

Steve was stunned at Tony’s chosen duty, but he held his tongue from expressing his misgivings.

Wanda meekly gestured to grab everyone’s attention and asked, “what if the Winter Soldier light bulbs or the connections between them are too…integrally though subliminally connected to Bucky’s other brain functions—his cognition, memory, or perception maybe, and I’m unable to destroy them for this reason, then what should we do?”

“Make sure to identify it, Saran wrap it with your power. That way, the unique electromagnetic character of your power will allow me to, in turn, identify the neural pathways on there—“ he then pointed to the monitors where his upgraded EEG readings are being recorded, “—which will enable me to compare it with Bucky’s normal readings and we can try to see if we cannot connect the Winter Soldier circuit with the Bucky circuit, such that both lights can be lit at the same time. That is, if I may request for your aid, Dr. Strange, in analyzing the data and seeing how it could be done, should that eventuality be resorted to,” Tony answered with a slight furrow between his eyebrows, turning towards the Doctor to see if he was amenable to helping in that matter.

“You mean, put the Winter Soldier under my conscious control?” Bucky piped up while Stephen nodded his head once in recognition that he would be glad to assist Tony to study that angle. “Is that even possible?”

“That will be our _last resort_ ,” replied Tony. “But looking at the Winter Soldier notebook, I think that’s possible.”

“I, uh, I’ve been known to attack my handlers on occasion, trying to resist the programming. I’m not entirely comfortable with you reciting the words, T,” Bucky said, doubt etched on his face. _I don’t want to hurt you_ , was left unsaid but Steve heard the sentiment loud and clear anyway.

“Don’t worry about me; I’m a big boy, B,” interjected Tony with a slight eye roll and a shake of his head. “I’m confident that you won’t hurt me or anybody here—you got this, and besides, I can always sing you a lullaby before the Winter Soldier touches a hair on my head; it’s gonna be fine.”

“Do we have a contingency plan should something like what had happened in June happen again?” This time it was Natasha who asked. “No one was around to say the programming words then, but he regressed to Winter Soldier mode anyway,” she reminded them of the time when the BARF hall was thrashed when the Winter Soldier made an unexpected appearance.

“I’m assuming he regressed due to the sheer force of the mental assault in the form of traumatic memories he was made to recall. I’m not saying it couldn’t happen again now that he had already been subjected to the BARF treatment, but it could just as well be triggered by actual, physical assault upon the programming’s neural connections. Thanks for pointing that out, Nat. But I think we’re fairly prepared for something like that happening given our primary and supporting security measures this time around—we should be fine,” Tony confidently addressed. “Because like I said,” he looked at Bucky with a small but serene smile and continued, “I know Bucky won’t let any of us come to harm. He’s got this.”

Bucky’s eyes softened from being apprehensive to being affectionate at Tony’s sheer confidence in him, that the wordless exchange between them could’ve made even Steve cry in its understated beauty.

“So—“ Tony clapped and rubbed his palms together to signal to everyone that they should take their stations to begin the procedure. Steve took his place to stand beside the gurney where Bucky lay with his back raised to make him feel less like a patient and more just chilling while waiting for what show was up next on the television or something.

It stood to reason that with Tony’s confidence that Bucky wouldn’t hurt anyone, he had opted not to secure their patient to the bed with bindings, and no one dared argue against him on that point, not even Steve. Because Steve also didn’t believe that Bucky needed to be restrained like a dangerous animal despite the threat of his other persona.

Steve smiled encouragingly at Bucky and comfortingly gave the latter’s upper arm a pat. The Captain watched Tony approach their patient to squeeze the latter’s cybernetic wrist. “Do you trust me, B?”

“Yes,” came Bucky’s reply that was without a tinge of hesitation.

“Time to earn that trust then,” Tony said with a tight-lipped grin and a wink. He took a step back and, catching Wanda’s eye, nodded as a signal to begin. Wanda raised her hands at eye level as if to catch something that would be flying towards her face at a speed of 100 miles per hour.

“ _Zhelaniye,_ ” Tony enunciated, loud and clear in the secluded acoustics of Dr. Cho’s laboratory.

The crimson energy of Wanda’s power started swirling around her fingertips, outstretched hands and around Bucky’s head like lazy smoke. On the young lady’s face was the look of single-minded concentration; completely different from Bucky’s face, which was the look of someone who was undecided whether he was in pain or in the middle of trying to remember something that was best left forgotten.

“I got him,” Wanda informed the others with an effortful hiss while trying to keep her focus. “But the network of conditioning triggered by the first word is too entangled with his other higher brain functions. I can’t destroy it without damaging him somehow,” Wanda continued, near-breathlessly. The effort of keeping hold of Bucky’s mind seemed to really test the limits of her power.

“And it’s probably the same with the other programming words,” Stephen supplemented, taking a hesitant step towards Wanda, ready to give any aid she might require.

“Then we try the connection,” Tony stated, coming to a quick decision. “ _Rzhavyy._ ”

It was the enunciation of the second programming word that started the screaming from Bucky. Steve’s best friend’s hand reached out to him as if by instinct and the Captain caught it and gave a mighty squeeze, wanting to assure Bucky that, in the haze of his pain, Steve was there; Steve wasn’t going anywhere.

Bucky’s eyes were tightly shut and he was breathing heavily in between bouts of yells and whimpers. As if he was reliving something horrifying again and again. Beads of sweat had started to pepper their patient’s forehead and wetness was beginning to leak out of the man’s eyes, sliding down the side of his face.

Steve bit his lips between his teeth to keep from choking out a halt to the proceedings. Tony knew what he was doing; Steve had to trust— _trusted_ —Tony.

“What’s the connection look like, Wanda?” Tony asked, a bit alarmed at Bucky’s reactions which were now at the stage of violent spasms and shivering. “If you can’t scramble it, I need it displayed on the EEG—“

“I can sever the connection,” Wanda announced through gritted teeth.

“Without harm to him?”

Wanda just nodded, almost imperceptibly. Her hands had already started trembling with the effort of keeping Bucky’s brain activity ensconced in her power. She had already started whimpering, too. But she bravely pushed on for the sake of their patient, and for that Steve felt such pride for her.

“Do it,” Tony commanded. Looking at Steve meaningfully, he, himself, seized Bucky’s other—metal—hand and sandwiched it between his own hands. “Brace yourself; it would probably sting…”

Biting her lower lip, Wanda offered up a more powerful burst of her power, and Bucky started to howl in earnest now. Steve could only imagine that the pain must be akin to going through seven circles of hell—a million times worse than just a sting, all right.

The grip of Bucky’s hand on Steve’s was so strong, their joined hands started shaking and Steve, whose threshold for pain was high due to the Super Soldier serum coursing in his system, was actually beginning to lose the feeling in his hand. He couldn’t even imagine what Tony felt like, holding Bucky’s cybernetic and exponentially more powerful hand, but, for his part, the genius-billionaire showed no reaction, not even one grimace or exclamation of pain—not one squat.

Tears were freely falling down Bucky’s face now, and Steve felt his heart break for his best friend. After everything Bucky had been through, there was still this reverse engineering thing and it seemed like there was no end to the trials in his life.

“No, no, no, stop please… Please, stop—stop, stop,” Bucky was hoarsely whimpering now. He was shaking like a leaf. Like he had never been the confident, suave James Barnes before he was shipped off to war, or the sure-fingered sniper of the Howling Commandos or the feared HYDRA assassin for over fifty years. Right now, to Steve, Bucky looked like a scared child; there was nothing more heartbreaking.

But Tony never gave the word, and Wanda never let up until Steve thought Bucky had been rendered half-lucid already, falling in and out of consciousness and whimpering. The haunted look in those blue-gray eyes was back in full force.

“You wanna try for a third word?” Wanda asked when the screams were replaced by sniveling and heavy breathing of someone physically, emotionally and psychologically exhausted.

“No,” Tony answered quietly. “That was just as punishing for you, too. You need to get some rest—recover your strength for another crack at this some other day. We’re stopping here,” he conceded, not letting go of Bucky’s hand that, in his, had already fallen quite limp. Wanda’s crimson energy fizzled and was gone in a heartbeat. Natasha, quick on her feet, went to fetch some water for the exhausted young lady while Stephen went to the banks of monitors to satisfy himself that their patient was going to relatively survive the ordeal.

Steve, noticing that Wanda looked just as badly shaken up and emotionally drained because of the experience, gently let go of his hold on Bucky’s flesh hand and knelt in front of Wanda where the latter had succumbed to her own shaky legs to sit and try to regain her bearings. “You did beautifully, Wanda. That was _amazing_. Great job…”

“What they did to him,” Wanda murmured, her eyes meeting Steve’s were glassy with unshed tears. She looked at where Bucky lay, spent, and nearly choked on her sympathy. “They were _monsters_ , Cap… And what they subjected him to was inhumane.”

Didn’t he know it?

Steve knew perfectly well the twin to Wanda’s power: she could get a glimpse of what one was thinking while one was subjected to her power. Goodness knew what horrors she had seen while in Bucky’s head.

There was nothing else to say in response to that but a comforting squeeze on the hands she had clasped and jittery on her lap. Turning his attention away from Wanda, Steve let his eyes stray back to where Bucky lay in time to catch Tony gently brushing the tearstains on Bucky’s cheek while the genius’ other hand still enveloped Bucky’s metal one. A pained look combined with deeply affectionate regard shone bright as sunshine out of Tony’s eyes.

Steve felt his insides begin to warm despite the ice that had formed there due to Bucky’s agonizing screams. Tony could damn well swear left, right and center, try to convince both himself and Steve that he didn’t care one whit for Bucky. But Steve was not convinced—far from it…

Because that… _right there_ …was the look of someone who cared, someone who’d _always_ cared, perhaps too much, but was too afraid of being found out that there was a soft spot to his otherwise invulnerable armor after all.

-0-0-0-

Breathing a defeated sigh, Steve hung his head to look at the wooden planks on the floor of his room rather than the lone figure of Bucky, slouched and unmoving, sitting on the slope of the grassy hill where they usually had their Tai Chi sessions, right smack in the middle of Steve’s view from his bedroom window.

It was supposed to be a nice early afternoon in mid-August—perfect for outdoor excursions, but the day was lost on Bucky and on Steve as well, for he was too concerned with his best friend’s demeanor of late.

There was no mistaking the familiar figure that Bucky cut even in the distance. That was because he was hunching his shoulders again like he wanted to slouch until his clavicle had glued itself to his knees and he would just be an invisible bundle of trauma and HYDRA’s inhumane mental conditioning. It was breaking Steve’s heart anew that after having regained a semblance of being secure in his own mind and body once again, Bucky had regressed back to the brooding, silent and expressionless person he had been when he’d woken up before Easter.

Although he recognized that it was going to get worse before it got better, what with the reverse engineering process, Steve couldn’t help but feel frustrated that he was again helpless to do anything for his friend.

First, it was Tony who’d shut him out on the matter of the former’s other-universe memories and now, Bucky was shutting him out, too. God, why was he so…useless when it came to helping the people who mattered to him?

Yesterday, he’d tried to interest Bucky into checking out the carnival that he’d heard was happening farther upstate, but the former Sergeant refused to hear any of it—it was like the invitation just flew over his head and he’d mumbled that he didn’t feel like leaving because he was exhausted. Steve suspected that Bucky was back to staying up nights, staring off into space and reliving the conditioning that he’d had to go through in the hands of HYDRA. Steve couldn’t blame Bucky, really, if the latter wanted to retreat into himself. Didn’t mean Steve didn’t feel useless, though.

Maybe it was time to call in the reinforcements

Resolute, Steve left his room and proceeded to the residential building’s elevator to pay Tony a visit in his workshop.

Ever since Tony had started rejoining them in team activities, it also meant that the workshop was no longer the impenetrable fortress that it used to be. Within reason, each member of the team could already visit and consult with Tony for any concerns regarding training, arsenal and the current political environment surrounding the amendments to the Sokovia Accords. Slowly but surely, the instrument was being adapted by the original 117 signatories. The numbers were already up to 84 and the United States had long since signed, but that hardly meant that there was no longer any unrest regarding the new direction that the new administration has decided to take.

Steve knew that now that he’s informed the UN Panel of his agreement to the amendments, he was already supposed to be joining Tony in the dogged observance and policing of the Accords all over the world. But with the concern that was Bucky’s current mental state, Steve was distracted as hell and he was letting Tony get the lion’s share of the responsibility when it came to handling the political side of things.

The Captain couldn’t begin to express the happiness, the relief and the satisfaction of being back on the same team as Tony Stark, though. If only there was no longer the underlying awkwardness between them because of Steve’s knowledge of Tony’s other-universe memories, and Tony’s abject refusal to talk about it with Steve and let the latter help somehow.

Arriving at the pneumatic doors to Tony’s workshop, Steve keyed in his unique access codes and purposefully sauntered in amidst FRIDAY announcing his presence to the only other occupant in the ‘shop.

It didn’t escape Steve at all that Tony’d minimized the holo-screen where he was also observing Bucky’s lonely brooding on the hill just as Steve’s presence was announced. The Captain filed that information away for some kind of use much later. He’s found himself doing that a lot lately, actually.

“’sup, Cap?” Tony casually asked, appearing for all intents and purposes as if he’d been tinkering with the engine in front of him for hours and not observing Bucky’s self-imposed isolation from afar.

“We need to do something about Buck,” Steve announced without any segue at all. “He’s been back to moping and he refuses to let me—or anyone else—distract him.”

“Mm-hm,” Tony distractedly concurred, not letting up on his work. But Steve knew he was listening, and that he, too, was concerned. He couldn’t shut down the holo-screen live feed of Bucky fast enough.

“Maybe you could do a better job of it,” Steve urged, breathing another frustrated sigh.

“What makes you think he’d let _me_ distract him?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?” Steve looked back at him unimpressed. It was another thing they've been consciously giving a wide berth since Tony’d started to reintegrate himself in the team. They were only too happy not to have to dissect their sordid love triangle on top of everything else.

“Fine,” conceded Tony. “I’ll see if I can convince him to lighten the fuck up.”

“How far along are we in the reversal process anyway?”

“Well, you know very well that we didn’t get any further than the fifth word the other day. I think, with how it’s going, he’s really on the verge of damaging his vocal chords screaming or something. So, we can’t rush things,” informed the genius, brandishing a screwdriver towards Steve to carry his point across. “And I really think we have to keep reinforcing the scrambling we’ve already done in relation to the connection between the words that came before the one we’re currently at. With repetition, we can make sure that the neural connections between the words cannot be reverted back to how they used to be.”

“I guess I’m just worried about him,” Steve remarked after a period of silence which Tony used to keep tinkering the engine in front of him.

“I know,” Tony assented. “We all are. We must also take into consideration the toll that this process is taking on _Wanda_. We can’t afford to rush things,” repeated Tony for emphasis.

“Yeah, it just—“ Steve began, but he was interrupted with an alert from FRIDAY.

“ _Priority communication from the Command Center, please, gentlemen,_ ” FRIDAY announced

“Hit us, Fry.”

A holo-screen popped up on the closest wall and Sam’s stony face appeared, larger than life, on it. He was the one currently on-duty in the Command Center in the administration building. “Report, Sam,” Steve said, straightening up where he stood.

“There’s been a bombing in the Pro-Accords amendment rally being held in Moscow,” Sam reported, accompanying his report with satellite and real-time images flashing on the left side of the holo-screen. Russia was the latest in the long line of original signatories to the Sokovia Accords currently considering fixing its imprimatur on the amendment.

“We can’t come until we’re called,” Tony interjected before Steve could ask him how they were supposed to respond to it. “We can’t treat it as a terror threat worthy of the Avengers unless the jurisdiction involved summons us for help; you know that, Cap.”

And man, this was really the part that was the hardest to swallow for Steve, but it could have been worse—in fact, it _had_ been worse until Tony and the battery of lawyers supporting them had pushed for some kind of relaxation and more exceptions to the general rule. “What are we looking at in terms of casualties, Sam?”

“No reported deaths yet, but there have been injuries,” Sam answered. “That’s actually not the worst of it…”

“There’s more?” Tony asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Satellite feeds picked up on someone with an 87% match for General Ross in the crowd of rallyists. The bomb detonated just as the satellite images pegged the person to be walking away from ground zero,” stated Sam, clenching his jaw.

“Are you insinuating that—“

“Ross had something to do with this terror threat?” Tony finished Steve’s thought.

“I’m not insinuating anything,” Sam said, defensively. “An 87% match was picked up leaving the crowd just as the bomb blew things all to hell. What would _your_ conclusion be?”

“Not like Ross to be masterminding a terror threat,” Steve argued.

“What the hell do we know about what Ross would or wouldn’t do?” Tony countered, his lips curling in distaste. Steve could tell from where he was standing that Tony’s thoughts were starting to go into overdrive, taking every little detail of the _last year_ into account. “Say, Cap, did we ever find out who was responsible for Paris and Madripoor?”

Steve looked at him, discomfited as to where Tony was going with this, but it wouldn’t do well to discount anything. Steve had always been of the opinion to assume the worst as regards one’s enemy.

“We’re gonna need more proof before we take this to the brass,” Tony just said, hearing Steve’s silent answer. And the Captain knew that proof Tony was going to get, come hell or high water.


	31. 31. TONY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony tries to cheer Bucky up by taking him on a surprise excursion, and to a modified BARF session. Tony suspects Bucky of realizing something, and Tony has realizations of his own--realizations that may already be too late in coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Friday, another update! It won't be long now, only 9 chapters left in this roller coaster of a ride! ^_^
> 
> I'd like to thank the regular commenters of the story; you guys are my muses. Writing this is so much more inspiring having you around to cheer-read, encourage and suggest things to me. You guys are the absolute BEST!!!
> 
> In light of that, I would still love to know your reactions to this chapter, specifically how it turned out, the way it has surged the plot forward. Does the first angle seem clear already? Were you "expecting" the plot twist? Well, not so much a "plot twist" really but a significant movement, right? Let me know what you think using the Kudos and Comment buttons, a'ight? That includes any typos, SPaG issues and inconsistencies. Remember that I only self-edit and I might not be all that good or thorough at it...
> 
> Memories in _italics_.
> 
> Also, I went back to some chapters to make very minor modifications. For example I went back to Chapter 29 to edit that the terror threat that happened then happened in Shanghai... Those kinds of minor changes... Just for consistency purposes. So that when the story is complete and you would want to read it again in one go, it wouldn't feel so disjointed... Anyway...
> 
> ENJOY this chapter and your weekend, my lovelies!!!  
> \---

****Tony didn’t know how Bucky could’ve given the _entire_ Barnes Rehab Team the slip after their third reverse engineering session in Helen’s lab, where they got as far as the seventh word and no further because Wanda had been so close to collapsing due to the sheer exertion of scrambling the connection between the programming words.

At the very least, they were getting somewhere considering Bucky’s relative docility during the recitation of the first three words. The bloodcurdling screams and the trembling didn’t start until the fourth programming word that time. Though Bucky’s reaction started quite late and Tony should have been bracing himself for the new onslaught, it wasn’t any easier to see compared to the first two times it had happened. To say that Bucky’s suffering through the reverse engineering was painful to watch was a fucking understatement.

The reactions, however, were quite telling when it came to the comparative success of scrambling the connections between programming words. To Tony, Bucky’s trembling and occasional juddering during the first three words indicated that the connections between those were less strong now than the connections pertinent to the succeeding words. It meant that there was a need to continuously reinforce the connection scrambling—much like when a person would undergo regular check-ups to maintain his well-being—until the connections are considerably weakened if not eradicated completely. Also, Tony, consulting with Dr. Strange, thought that it wasn’t enough to tackle just one connection, just to keep the series circuit from closing, so to speak; they needed to scramble _all_ connections just to stay on the safe side.

This meant they were going to have to push on for heaven knows how many more reverse engineering sessions. Tony was going to have to suck it up and bear seeing Bucky’s truly pitiful suffering. It was damn near soul-crushing to witness. Tony couldn’t even begin to imagine how Cap could be feeling, having to see his beloved Bucky suffer anew as if the BARF sessions in the past weren’t punishing enough.

For Tony, though, he didn’t know what was more disturbing: the screaming and shivering during the process itself or the vacant stare of those otherwise vibrant blue-gray eyes after each session. Steve was correct, if they didn’t do anything to try to cheer Bucky up, they were probably going to find him broken at the foot of the residential building after having hurled himself off the rooftop landing pad. Sure, as a super soldier, he was probably going to survive it, but it wouldn’t be about the end result at all but the _impetus_. It wasn’t that Tony took Bucky to be in a particular headspace as to contemplate suicide, but everyone has a breaking point, and so it was better to err on the side of caution and do something to get the former Sergeant out of his funk before the latter found the prospect of not needing the elevator to get from the rooftop to the ground floor all that attractive.

On second thought, maybe it hadn’t been all that hard for Bucky to sneak past _Tony_ unnoticed by the latter… The former Sergeant was, after all, the infamous Winter Soldier—he’s probably perfected moving unseen, slipping through one’s fingers like smoke. Plus, Tony was mighty preoccupied and easily distracted of late what with his recent project of trying to find the common denominator in the recent terror threats in Paris, Madripoor, Shanghai and Moscow and hoping that he’d find General Thaddeus Ross’ pasty ass at the end of the breadcrumb trail, so that he could have something against Ross for a change, if only to get back at that asshole for what he’d put Tony’s family through.

Between seeing to Bucky’s reverse engineering and looking for dirt on Ross, Tony’s waking hours were pretty much booked solid. Yet, he hasn’t been able to get much headway on the matter of Ross’ involvement with the recent terror threats to incite some kind of unrest in the countries that were yet to sign, and to try to get the Avengers to make a misstep when it came to the countries which have already signed to force a repudiation of their support for the amendments. All the resources available to powerful tech magnate and part-time hacker Tony Stark—and they were _substantial_ —couldn’t cut it. He would have to employ every shred of his ingenuity to attack it from some other angle if he wanted to pin Ross with so much shit, they would have to dig the General out of the shitdump with a backhoe.

Tony needed a different perspective; he needed a damn break; and he needed Bucky Barnes.

Bucky may be part-ninja, stealthy enough to give Tony the slip, but the latter had _FRIDAY_. It was easy to corner the former Sergeant before he could vanish to parts unknown once Tony had FRIDAY on the lookout. At about three in the afternoon, he’d caught Bucky just as the latter was preparing to go out on to the grounds, march around sullenly until his feet have scratched a deep enough excavation in the dirt.

“Where to, soldier?” Tony casually asked, shifting on the balls of his feet to make it look like he didn’t specifically seek out the other brunette.

Bucky grunted wordlessly but offered no explanation as to where he intended to go. The dark circles under Bucky’s eyes and the withdrawn and haunted air about him that Tony was not missing were back in full force.

More than anything, those signs scared Tony that the procedure was hurting more than healing the other man. He’d felt compelled to do something about it from the first. But he was afraid to overstep some bounds with Steve. Bucky was Steve’s… _concern_. Tony didn’t want to preempt the Captain in the matter of cheering his best friend up. So, Tony took to observing Bucky and making sure he wasn’t slashing his flesh wrist for sport in his room. Steve’s subsequent blessing to do something for Bucky was very welcome. Cheering Bucky up was something Tony intended to take very seriously indeed.

“I’ve been looking at holo-screens, tablet screens and monitors for 40 hours straight now; I have a permanent afterimage in the extreme left side of my left eye. I’ve hacked defense ministries secure files of 24 countries and counting, looking for Thunderbolt Ross or any of his associates, just to see where he’s been and where’s he’s going, but that sonofabitch is fucking slippery—like an eel, damn him. I have this crick in my neck every time I turn to the right; I need a fucking break. So…come on, let’s go,” Tony cocked his head in invitation towards the garage so they could pick up his car.

Bucky took a step away from Tony with an uncertain shrug, wordlessly declining the invitation to go somewhere else, but Tony was hearing none of it.

“Look B, if we don’t go somewhere else, it’s either I keep working for 56 hours more or until I can’t see straight anymore, or I find my distraction at the bottom of a bottle of scotch; neither of which, I’m told, is particularly constructive or healthy. And _you_ …are just going to mope and brood and relive the horrors of your past until you’ve trudged through the entire area of the compound fifty times over, which is not particularly constructive or healthy either. So… are you coming with me or not?” Tony reasoned in his usual hyper-verbal approach with not a bit of petulance and childishness, crossing his arms over his chest in what he hoped was a vaguely threatening, if not, extremely persuasive manner.

Bucky conceded with a resigned breath, falling into step beside Tony as they made their way to the garage to go get Tony’s car. “Where are we going?” Bucky asked in a gravelly but soft voice, which Tony felt like he hadn’t heard since the reverse engineering process started that he actually missed it.

“You’ll see,” Tony cryptically assured. “It’ll be fantastic, I think you’ll like it.”

Bucky looked unconvinced and apprehensive. The expression never left his face even after they’ve pulled the car out of the garage, and they were on their way.

The car ride was filled with uncharacteristic silence, which Tony found he didn’t mind at all. It provided an opportunity for them to talk, or at least—for _Tony_ to talk and try to coax some kind of reaction from Bucky.

“When I was little, before I got shipped off to a boarding school in Europe, our butler—Jarvis—used to take me out on surprise excursions like this. He particularly favored taking me out exploring when I was sad and aloof after Howard scolded me for bringing him the wrong tumbler of whiskey or something. Jarvis was the closest I had to a father figure, and together, we went to theme parks, zoos, museums, technological exhibits. We even went to an ice cream factory once!

“But my favorite was when we went to a planetarium. To a five-year-old, that was _the_ coolest place ever with all the flashing lights and the larger-than-life model of the galaxy, and that big-ass telescope that you can look through to see stars millions of light years away…both fascinates and humbles you because you start wondering if you’re really alone in the universe and, at the same time, you realize that you are just one small, insignificant speck compared to the grandness that is space. Because of that experience, I actually aspired to be an astronaut for a while. I got really crazy for Star Wars and Star Trek— _Space, the final frontier_ and all that jazz,” Tony narrated with an amused shake of his head at his own wide-eyed wonder and childish gullibility. But Howard had torpedoed any such aspirations of his son. Howard’s idea of being supportive was encouraging Tony to be someone and do something that would redound to his and the company’s benefit; being an _astronaut_ , Howard believed, was not one of them.

And when Howard noticed how attached Tony was getting to Jarvis, he shipped off his son, aged 7, to a boarding school in Europe to be someone else’s problem. He only got to hang out with Jarvis and his wife, Ana, during Christmas and summer holidays, and his life was never the same. Never as happy as when Jarvis would simply take him somewhere when he was sad and neglected.

“We had some great times, Jarvis and I,” Tony reminiscently said, steering the conversation back to happier topics before he, himself, could turn melancholy. Today was not about him after all; today was about Bucky, about cheering Bucky up and reminding him that he had people around him who care for him. “And with your permission, Sir, I’d like to be your Jarvis today.” Tony, with a slight smirk on his lips, stole a glance at Bucky, whose face still had apprehension on it but was now tinged with amusement that he was trying to fight off.

Because Howard was a vindictive asshole who had cut Jarvis and Tony’s time together and effectively stole his son’s chance at a semi-regular childhood, Jarvis had never been able to teach Tony how to fly a kite or take Tony to a good, old-fashioned carnival. And that was where Tony and Bucky were heading to now.

Dusk was already falling fast when, on the approach from the highway that rose and dipped with the hilly terrain of upstate New York, chatty driver and relatively quiet passenger first laid eyes on the carnival. Set up on a spacious patch of moorland, the carnival’s mix of LED lights, blinking bulbs and strobe lights was only beginning to come alive while colorfully strung up bunting and banners were flapping in the early evening breeze. Making their way closer to the carnival, it was noticeable that the tents and pavilions for the various carnival games, rides, attractions and food stalls all bustled with activity from the fair’s patrons. There were quite a number of children and young people in the manageable crowd, but there were also, surprisingly, a lot of adults.

Pulling into a vacant space in the open-area parking lot adjacent to the carnival and killing the engine, Tony smiled widely at Bucky and bumped shoulders with the latter before disembarking from the car. Bucky wasn’t as enthusiastic as the former Sergeant stayed in the front passenger seat wringing his hands together. Tony tapped on the window and cocked his head, urging Bucky to get out of the vehicle. “Come on, don’t be a party pooper. We didn’t drive all the way out here just to stay in the car,” persuaded Tony, pulling Bucky’s car door open for him.

Looking at the animated crowd milling about the carnival with trepidation, Bucky hesitantly got out of the car. “I shouldn’t be here. I’m unstable right now, Tony. It’s not safe…for them,” he mumbled, nodding his head towards the crowd and visibly shuddering. “What if the Soldier makes an appearance? The last time I was this unstable and in the presence of a crowd, I ended up _attacking people_ in the movie house, I—I… _you_ shouldn’t have brought me here,” censured Bucky, almost sounding angry at Tony for putting all of these people at risk from the Winter Soldier.

Tony took a deep breath and squarely faced Bucky, brown eyes boring into stormy blue ones. “Listen to me, B. Are you listening?”

Bucky grudgingly nodded and tried to avert his eyes, but that only invited Tony to seek out his gaze. “You’re _not_ going to attack anyone. Because you’re better now than you were back at the movie house. Those days are behind you, all right? We’re gonna go in there and play Whac-a-Mole, Ring Toss and Balloon Pop—win all the stuffed animals that we can fit in the backseat of the car; we’re going to ride the Ferris Wheel, Bumper Cars, the Caterpillar and the Pendulum until we’ve upchucked all the cotton candy, corn dogs, buttered corn-on-the-cob, caramel apples, nachos and flavored shaved ice we could stuff ourselves with. Because, really, Bucky— _I_ need this just as much as you do. So…are you going to help me out here or…” Tony trailed off, prompting Bucky to finish that thought.

Every word also happened to be true. Tony needed a break from Ross and the ever-pressing issue about the amendments to the Accords which should have been a moot point already, from having to endure the agony of Bucky’s howls of suffering during the reverse engineering sessions which he, himself, was unsure why he was feeling in the first place, from trying to find some kind of fault in Steve every time they hung out just to prove to himself that he was nothing like the man Tony had fallen in love with, from constantly wrestling with his confused feelings for Cap while scheming to push the latter and Bucky together because he believed this was what was good for everybody.

Really, was it too much to ask to go give a few metal moles some grief by whacking them in the head to vent his pent-up frustrations while in the company of a friend?

“All right, all right—OK…” Bucky said with a resigned exhale. Pursing his lips both in mock irritation and reticent amusement, he nudged a shoulder at Tony’s with a low growl to get them walking towards the entrance of the carnival. “You owe me ten corn dogs, three servings of nachos and cotton candy the size of _Texas_ , Stark.”

“Easy,” replied Tony with a shrug and another huge smile.

They were told at the turnstile that they’ve come on a good, fairly relaxed night—it being a weeknight and all, with not as many people as they’ve had for the past two weekends. That meant they didn’t have to wait too long in line for the rides or eat while standing up, and it suited Tony just fine.

Their first stop was the Whac-a-Mole booth by special request of Tony Stark where he absolutely went to town hitting those blasted moles, popping out at random from the holes, with a gloved mallet. He got a pretty high score and was awarded with a Disney Tsum Tsum that could fit in the palm of his hand. He walked the length of the booth with pride, holding the stuffed toy like he would a commendation for a scientific innovation to Bucky’s faked consternation. “You’re proud of that? You call that a win? That’s seriously _second-rate_ , T,” scoffed Bucky, unimpressed.

“Like you can do better,” challenged Tony with a snort.

“Watch and learn, my friend. Watch and learn,” Bucky swaggered, accepting the challenge and seizing the gloved mallet with his flesh arm. He even had to dial down on his strength so as not reduce the moles to dust and still ended up winning a full-body bolster featuring some anime character or other and setting a new high score record.

“Arrogant ass,” muttered Tony with a vicious curl of his lips, and a competition for best Carnival Games King was launched between the two of them.

They made a circuit of all the game pavilions, winning several packs of gum, a shark-tooth necklace and matching leather bracelet, a couple of statement t-shirts, an extra-large pencil, a deck of Looney Toons playing cards and a goldfish, which Tony won in a Guess-How-Many-Marbles-Are-In-The-Jar booth because, as it turned out, Bucky was expectedly superior when it came to games of skill especially those involving targeting something while Tony was surprisingly better at games of chance such as the Betting Game or the Guess-How-Many-Marbles-Are-In-The-Jar Game.

“Here,” Tony said, holding out the plastic bag of water where the goldfish was busy flipping its fins. “I want you to have the little guy.”

“Tony, I’ve never had a pet before. The closest I came was a succulent when I was nine. They said it was hardy and low-maintenance, and it died on me after two weeks— _two weeks_!” Bucky protested, looking at the proffered fish in a bag like it was an IED that was about to go off in ten seconds.

“But I never would have won him if not for you,” interjected Tony. “See, I added the year of your birth to the number of days it’s been since you woke up and the date today. That was the number I used and that won me this little fella, so I think you should have him,” the genius reasoned, continuing, “also, if you compare your pet-caring track record with mine, you still win. I’ve never cared for a _living thing_ before; the closest I’ve come is _DUM-E_ and I don’t even want to start on how that’s no comparison at all.

“Besides, you ought to give yourself more credit than that. You took care of _me_ —made sure I didn’t starve during those months I was stubbornly trying to pass myself off as a hermit. And I’m pretty sure I’m more high-maintenance than this little guy here, so own up to your caregiving skills, B,” Tony said with good cheer, clapping Bucky in the shoulder.

It was only when he noticed that Bucky was not following him in his steps that he realized that something was wrong, “You all right, Buckster?”

Bucky shook himself out of being stunned and asked, “you—you know what year I was born?”

“Sure,” confirmed Tony with a curious quirk of his brows. “It’s not like it’s a state secret, is it?”

“I just…didn’t think you’d know that,” marveled Bucky before looking down on the ground and clenching his flesh hand around the knot of the goldfish’s plastic bag.

“Hmm,” was Tony’s sole reaction before he was tugging on Bucky’s arm to get him moving again and saying, “hey Soldier… Win _me_ something.”

“What would you like?” Bucky asked with a slight grin.

They stopped at another targeting game booth and Tony pointed out a 3-foot-tall blue bear sitting right at the top shelf of game prizes. “That one will do and I think I’m gonna name him _Bucky Bear_ and put him in a place of honor in my workshop. So, gonna win Bucky Bear for me, B?” Tony asked with a smile full of mischief.

And win the blue bear, he did. The satisfaction on Bucky’s face when he was handed the blue stuffed bear was something Tony would’ve definitely liked to capture on his smartphone’s camera had he had the gadget in his hand. Though the moment passed Tony by, it would be emblazoned in his mind for a long time. The look on the former soldier’s face was so magnificent, it caught Tony like a punch to the gut—sudden and unsettling. He was still stunned by the fact that he was _stunned_ by the look on Bucky’s face that there was a five-second delay in his reaction when Bucky was trying to hand him the blue bear.

“You OK, T?” Bucky asked, his otherwise dazzling smile crumbling into worry.

“Y—yeah…yeah—o’course I’m OK,” Tony covered up his inattention before seizing Bucky Bear into a fierce hug. “Oh it feels even better than it looks—nice,” he remarked. “What do you say we stow our winnings in the car and get something to eat before we hit the rides?”

“We can’t just leave Finn in the car unattended though,” protested Bucky, brandishing the plastic bag with the goldfish in it.

“ _Finn_ , huh? How about we find a container for Finn first before we deposit him at the bag check area?”

Tony had no qualms about paying five hundred dollars at a stall selling drinks in mason jars and drinks-to-share in fishbowls just to be sold a proper container for Bucky’s fish which was happily taken off their hands, for the time being, by the attendant in the bag deposit counter.

That done, they went to explore the food stalls next and gorged on foot-long hotdog sandwiches, corn dogs, nachos, fresh fruit shakes and cotton candy in full gastronomic satisfaction of what Tony supposedly owed Bucky.

They also checked out the selections in the stalls selling gift items with Tony offering to pay for anything Bucky might want to buy for Steve or any of the other Avengers. Though shy and apologetic about making Tony shell out for his purchases, Bucky did buy an artistic-looking paperweight for Steve, a keychain with a humorous statement on it for Scott and a Disney Princesses bath towel for Natasha. Tony was mighty curious about Bucky’s choice for Natasha, but he held his tongue, preferring to keep his amusement to himself.

After another trip to the car to stow what they bought, it was time to hit the rides. Tony particularly enjoyed Bucky’s bright-eyed awe when they sat side-by-side in a compartment aboard the Ferris Wheel, the carefree howling when they were aboard the Pendulum, the mock dismay coupled with amusement when they rode the Carousel while the toddlers looked at them—two grown-ass men trying to fit themselves on small ponies—like they were completely bonkers, the pure delight and mischief when they kept ramming into each other’s cars riding the Bumper Cars.

They were on their way to the Caterpillar when they happened upon an old-fashioned one minute-photo booth crammed in between two arcade games. “ _Holy_ —you know I haven’t seen one of these in a while,” commented Tony, brushing the curtain of the photo booth aside to find it fully functioning, vacant and ready for use. “How about another keepsake?” He pushed Bucky inside the cramped booth where the latter was confusedly manhandled to sit on the lone stool there and, subsequently, accommodate a lapful of Tony Stark.

“Big smiles, B,” Tony urged, pushing buttons in lightning quick succession to ready the machine. “It’s gonna be four shots, all right? Don’t forget to strike a pose… Rhodey will be so jealous when he hears about this…”

The genius made sure to strike a different pose with every cue, urging Bucky to do the same. And on the last one, Tony surprised himself—and probably Bucky, too—when he surged towards Bucky’s cheek and planted one on the former soldier just as the last flash went off.

They stared into each other’s eyes and time seemed to slow to a crawl as Tony read the confusion, fear, hope, happiness and gratitude in Bucky’s stormy blue eyes. Tony didn’t know—didn’t want to hazard a guess—what Bucky could’ve possibly read in his, but before he could contemplate too much about that, the machine screeched and ground, signaling that it had spat out their photo strip. And that was it; the moment was gone.

They filed out of the booth—Tony first, followed by Bucky. The genius was the one who plucked out their photo strip from the slot and chortled at their ridiculously hilarious poses in the first three panels. They had their noses turned up into snouts and their tongues out for the first one. The second panel had them laughing so hard, both their heads were thrown back. They had their lips in exaggerated pouts on the third one.

And on the fourth, Tony’s lips were against Bucky’s cheek while Bucky’s head was angled towards Tony and the kiss with a soft expression on his face that was half thrown into shadow. Tony’s eyes were closed and Bucky’s might have been, too. But both of them looked like they were both savoring that blink-and-it’s-gone moment that was remarkably caught on camera and captured for posterity.

It was Tony’s favorite photo. “I like this one.” The genius motioned towards the fourth panel. “I’m keeping that, and you can have the rest,” asserted Tony.

“Well then, we’re going to have to toss a coin for it or something because that’s my favorite one, too, and I am not giving it up without a fight,” interjected Bucky with an impish half-smirk. He was definitely back to his old self—the Bucky before the reverse engineering sessions started.

“Rock, paper, scissors,” demanded Tony, and brandished a fist with the fore- and middle fingers out—scissors—at the same time that Bucky threw a fully-enclosed fist before him—rock. “Shit!”

“I win!” Bucky crowed triumphantly, plucking the photo strip from Tony’s paws with a shit-eating grin and breaking the strip in two, with Tony getting the first two panels and Bucky getting the last two.

Later on, they had just gotten off the Caterpillar when Bucky stealthily enveloped Tony’s hand in his flesh one and squeezed, startling the genius for a bit. “Thank you, Tony. Thanks for… Thanks for everything,” said Bucky softly.

“My pleasure,” Tony supplied in reply, patting Bucky’s hand that enclosed his. He found that it really was. Being with Bucky like this, seeing him smile again was truly Tony’s pleasure.

-0-0-0-

The ride back from the carnival was a lot less tense and a lot less quiet compared to the ride earlier. For one thing, Bucky seemed a lot more relaxed and more his old animated self with Finn’s bowl gingerly resting on his lap, secured by his flesh arm. They have a backseat full of stuffed toys, other prizes and keepsakes, bellies full of greasy, feel-good food and drink, and hearts full of good humor and fond memories spent in good company. All-in-all, it was a damn good night. For both of them, that Tony was certain of.

They were pulling up into the Avengers facility’s garage, aware that the night was about to come to an end, when the first tense silence fell over them like a cloak. “Well…” It was Bucky who spoke up first to break the silence. “I had a great time, T. I haven’t been to one of them carnivals in…I don’t know how long. Thank you for annoying me into going,” he joked with a clipped laugh.

Tony threw his head back in a hearty laugh at that before gathering himself again and angling his body to be able to look squarely at his passenger in the car. “Look Buckster… I don’t presume to know what you’re going through. But if I may, can I ask you to try something?”

Bucky shrugged, prompting the other man.

“Don’t shut out your friends. Please,” advised Tony. “Take it from me. Shutting out the people you care for and who care for you makes any suffering you’re going through so much worse, _I_ should know. I did that for the longest time—didn’t make things better…

“I’m not saying that you should socialize even if you don’t feel like it—fake it ‘til you make it? I’m not. Take some time to deal with the pain, the suffering, the grief—goodness knows it’s no laughing matter what they made you go through and you’re reliving it now with every word in that programming sequence—but after you’ve made your peace with your suffering, look up and look around, because we’re here for you—all of us, most especially Steve,” Tony said, feeling his throat constrict when he dropped Steve’s name. _Why_ he felt that, he was not entirely certain.

“Did he tell you to say that—to _do_ this?” Bucky asked, falling into moroseness again. There was also a hint of _disappointment_ in there. Somewhere. Tony detected it.

“No!” He vehemently denied. _Well_ — “Well, he _did_ talk to me about being worried about you, but he didn’t tell me to take you to the carnival and sit you down to tell you this. This is—this is all me. I wanted to do this for you. _With_ you. My concern was merely mirrored by Cap’s because _I’m_ your friend, too, you know. I care about you, and I was worried about you, too.” Tony started tapping a tense finger on his lap.

“I just… I get these…images—these moments when they were conditioning me into becoming the Winter Soldier, and I feel like the person I’ve become is slipping away from my fingers again. Like I’m being _erased_ again to be replaced by something else. I… there’s this… _fear_ that I—I’d lose the person I’ve fought so damn hard to become and revert back to him and hurt you—hurt my friends,” Bucky tried to explain albeit haltingly and chokingly. “So I just keep away, you know—keep away from all of you so that when the memories become too much and I find myself being taken over against my will, I won’t end up hurting you. Because that would just…kill me. If I lose control, if I lose time and the next time I wake up, I’d have your blood and your lifeless body in my hands with no memory of what I’d done, that would fucking _kill me_.”

Tony understood that Bucky meant _all of them_ —all of the Avengers—and not just him, Tony. But the fact that Bucky was trusting _him_ enough to tell him this made Tony’s heart swell regardless.

“You’re not giving yourself enough credit again, B,” pointed Tony out. “You’ve made it this far, you’ve gotten as well as you have, you’ve worked your ass off to find peace with yourself only to—what—give in to _fear_? Fear of something that might or might not happen? Will there ever come a time that the fear would stop? See, this is exactly what HYDRA wants… That after all the guilt is addressed, after all the inhumane conditioning is negated, you’d still be left with fear, and you’d never be free of their hold over you; they will have won.

“As cliché as it sounds, embrace the fear but don’t let it cut you off from the people who care for you. You may be able to control the Winter Soldier if instead of being afraid of him, you accept that he is part of you— _a part of you, but not who you are_ ,” Tony stated with all the conviction he could muster.

Remembering all the three-in-the-morning conversations with the Bucky in the past, Tony knew his efforts now were more substantial than any of his half-hearted, almost sarcastic attempts to encourage Bucky before. He didn’t know why but it seemed so much more important to keep Bucky in fighting form now than ever before. Maybe it was because Tony felt like he owed it to Bucky; the latter never gave up on coaxing the genius out of his shell to rejoin his family and he was all the better for that. This was the least that Tony could do for Bucky—

Then, another idea took shape in Tony’s mind. Envisioning Bucky’s hearty smile from when they were in the carnival, Tony’s mind started kicking into overdrive. Well—there _was_ something more he could do, actually…

Sure, Bucky’s life was full of loss, guilt, suffering and pain. He fought in the war, got imprisoned and experimented on during the said war by HYDRA, plunged to his death, survived his death only to be seized by HYDRA and subjected to inhumane suffering and turned into the Winter Soldier, murdered countless people whilst under conditioning for over sixty years, rediscovered his best friend  who he’d almost killed only to be accused of a crime he didn’t commit, hunted down and used as an instrument for someone else’s bitter revenge, reawakened after another period of time in cryo-sleep to be tortured anew in the name of recovery. It was a slew of bad things and worse experiences. But that wasn’t all there was to Bucky Barnes’ life, was it?

“Hey… Night’s still young... Why don’t you deposit your things in your room and I’ll meet you at the BARF hall in twenty, OK?” Tony invited, plan now fully formed in his mind.

“Why?”

“We’re going to go meet the person that Bucky Barnes is,” Tony said with a slight wink.

After almost half an hour, Tony looked away from the lines of the BARF’s code on the computer monitor to watch Bucky tentatively poke his head through the door, standing ajar, into the BARF hall.

“Tony, what is all this about?” Bucky asked, uncertain.

“Go on, put the BARF nodes on and get ready to see some memories,” invited Tony with a distracted wave of his hand while his attention was wrenched away from Bucky and back to the lines of code again. “You still trust me, right?”

“Yes,” Bucky still answered without hesitation, and Tony beamed. From out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bucky slip on the now-familiar accessories of the BARF as he finished the modifications to the BARF’s coding with a flourish.

“That should do it. Commence initializing sequence, FRIDAY,” Tony commanded, which his AI heeded. The lights in the hall dimmed while the images on the panels burst into a fast-flashing array of color, faces, places and moments. While the initializing sequence was still underway, Tony spoke, “you once talked to me about the BARF showing you only bad memories and remember I said it has nothing to do with the quality of your life, but that the BARF was only coded that way? Well…not anymore. You’re about to see what your life is _really_ about, Bucky Barnes…”

The images on the panels slowed to a trickle just as Tony stopped talking. Like Bucky probably was, Tony was enthralled by the passing moments the panels exhibited: what looked like a simple Christmas dinner with his parents and sisters; meeting Steve for the first time when they were kids; being laughed at by Steve after taking his first burning gulp of stolen liquor; what could only be his first date with a pretty girl; dinner with the Avengers; the first time that Bucky put on the prototype StarkTech cybernetic arm; the backyard campfire on Steve’s birthday; the moment when the fourth picture was shot in the one minute-photo booth; the dinner on the day after Tony’s birthday; Tony nodding off on Bucky’s shoulder during one movie night; washing Sam’s car with Steve; baking cookies with Steve; carrying out pranks with Scott; Tai Chi with the boys with the sun rising on their backs; the Fourth of July fireworks with the Avengers all lounged out on mats laid out on an open field.

Bucky choked back on a sob and covered his mouth with his flesh hand to keep any more sounds from escaping through his lips. This was Bucky’s life, and of course, it wasn’t all pain, grief and suffering. There was also family, second chances, laughter and moments that were otherwise ordinary but showed Bucky how he was loved and how fiercely he loved others, too.

Tony remained mesmerized, heart becoming full when he noticed that he featured in some of Bucky’s happiest memories, too. Because had Bucky not told him—and showed him—that he was in love with Tony?

Tony’s heart jumped in his chest that sent a twinge of bittersweet pain down his left arm. Bucky loved him. Although Bucky was damaged and afraid because he had been responsible for Tony’s parents’ deaths and the momentary chasm in Tony’s remaining family, the former Sergeant still had the courage to open himself up to the prospect of loving the least likely person to love him back. And he’d never, not once, forced himself on Tony or invaded Tony’s space. He respected Tony’s harsh rejection and remained by his side as a staunch friend.

Tony recalled having once told Bucky, in efforts to convince the latter to direct his affections towards Steve Rogers instead because it would make Steve happy and save Bucky from the self-destructive person that Tony tended to be, that Steve was not difficult to love. But Tony realized now that so was Bucky.

Feeling goose pimples erupt all over his exposed skin, Tony wrenched his focus away from his own internal musings to pay attention to the BARF images that had now stopped to feature just one scene—one featuring a young and stick-thin Steve Rogers and an equally young Bucky Barnes.

_“Yeah well—I don’t ask for you save me. I didn’t need your help. I got that one handled,” Steve stubbornly retorted, rubbing the back of his hand against his reddening cheek and smearing caked mud all over it._

_“And if you come home and your Ma finds you beaten into a bloody pulp, she’ll scold your ear off, and you’ll regret getting into that fight to start with. So I got you out of it ‘cos that’s what I’m around for,” Bucky replied, sounding far wiser than his actual age._

_“I can take care of myself, you know,” said Steve._

_Bucky faced Steve with a fond expression on his face. “And_ I’m _saying you don’t need to go it alone ‘cos I’m with you ‘til the end of the line, pal,” Bucky said, squeezing Steve’s bony shoulder reassuringly._

_Steve smiled, a combination of suspicion and gratitude on his face. “Why d’you even put up with me, Buck? I get into all these kinds o’scrapes and I get you in trouble with your Ma when you come home with a shiner, picking me up from these scrapes. You’re better off distancing yourself from me.”_

_They started walking down the cracked sidewalk, where other children also loitered and rudely looked at them and whispered conspiratorially as they passed, pointing at ‘those two misfits who were always in scuffles all the time with other children twice their size’. Bucky kicked a piece of rubble on the ground, distractedly, no doubt weighing in his youthful mind how he was supposed to respond._

_“Then what kind of boring, uneventful life would that be?” Bucky countered. “I dunno, Stevie—but things are just not as fun or as nice or as great unless you’re there beside me. So yeah—no, I’m stickin’ to you like a barnacle on a boat’s butt. We’re stronger together and things are funner when we do ‘em together.”_

The memory of the children dissolved into what looked like a laboratory eerily illuminated by moonlight from two square windows situated at shoulder-level. There was a brown-haired man strapped on a gurney, murmuring gibberish, and a man in a helmet with a big white ‘A’ on it and a pathetic excuse for a shield strapped to his back, hurrying towards the former.

_“Bucky… Oh my God,” he said, pained. Hurrying to free his friend from the bonds, Steve tore at the restraints binding Bucky on the gurney. “It's me. It's Steve.” He watched the man lying prostrate on the gurney regard him curiously._

_“Steve?” And then Bucky’s face broke out in a heart-breaking smile. “Steve!"_

_“Come on.” Steve helped his friend to his feet and with a look both of relief and concern that he made it there to see his friend alive, he tenderly touched Bucky’s cheek and said, “I thought you were dead…”_

_Bucky still looked a bit dazed, regarding Steve with confusion. Steve, who used to be a full head shorter than him, towered over him now. “I thought you were smaller…”_

_Steve looked away for a while, disturbed by far off explosions rocking the base. He also quickly studied a map of Europe taped on the wall and marked with other HYDRA caches before he half-dragged, half-carried Bucky out of that hellhole. “Come on.”_

_“What happened to you?”_

_“I joined the army,” quipped Steve back._

_Later on, Bucky was already stable enough to walk on his own two feet as they made their way through a hallway with small windows at eye-level and littered with stacked boxes along its length. He asked, “did it hurt?”_

_“A little.”_

_“Is it permanent?”_

_“So far,” came the answer._

_“I’m…I’m happy for you, pal,” Bucky managed to choke out. He was looking at Steve’s back like he still couldn’t believe that Steve was there. Steve had saved him._

_“I’m just glad it’s helped me save you,” Steve replied in an untimely show of emotion. He momentarily turned away from the direction they were hurrying towards to steal a glance a Bucky and steal a fleeting touch at his best friend’s cheek again. “We have to get higher, maybe a roof access or something. Can you run?”_

_“Hey, we’re_ together _,” Bucky said with not a bit of pride. “Sure, I can run ‘cause we’re stronger together, remember?”_

Together.

And it only occurred to Tony then where Steve could have gotten that idea he had spouted with such conviction when the Ultron debacle blew up in the Avengers’ collective faces. He had gotten it from _Bucky_ …

Tony took a deep breath and instinctively reached for the spot where his arc reactor used to sit. What he knew was a sad but knowing smile began to bloom on his face at the beauty of Steve and Bucky’s long and meaningful friendship, and as he watched the scene change to display the events of what could only be the supposed date where Tony had ditched both Bucky and Steve in his own efforts at matchmaking, it dawned on him that perhaps all this time, Bucky had loved Steve in the same way that Steve had always loved Bucky.

Tearing his eyes away from the scene of Bucky and Steve walking in the park while talking, Tony padded over to a spot by the right panel of the BARF where he could clearly see Bucky’s profile, the path of tears down his cheek, the play of tearful joy and remembrance in those eyes, thrown in alternating light and shadow.

_“I like remembering the old days with you, which I know probably gives you the impression that I’m hung up about the past so much, and to a certain extent, maybe I am, but can I tell you something?”_

_Bucky looked at Steve quizzically and shrugged his go-ahead._

_“I like this Bucky better. This person right here beside me. I will always love the old Bucky; I will always remember him and miss him, but this person that you’ve become—with his strength of heart and spirit despite everything he’s been through, he’s like the old Bucky and more. I want to get to know him, protect him, love him. Because he’s worth it. Exactly the way he is._

_“If I’ve given you the impression that I’m still hell-bent on getting the old you back, I apologize, but I want you to know that that’s not true. Whoever you decide you are, Buck, I’ll always be here for you,” Steve assured with a sincere and radiant smile that was characteristically his even when they were mud-covered, buck-toothed kids. “Until the end of the line.”_

Bucky’s gaze strayed from the BARF panels to Tony’s still figure, and with a silent sob, the former soldier nodded his heartfelt thanks. The haunted look has completely dissipated to be replaced by clarity and serenity. Maybe, like Tony, Bucky’s come to the same realization.

Unfortunately for Tony, the fact that Bucky might have been in love with Steve after all was not the only realization that walloped the genius like a log to the face.

And if his heart wasn’t being completely ripped to shreds right now, Tony might have even laughed out loud. God—he truly had the worst timing and the most rotten luck on the face of the planet.

Because it was only now—now that his matchmaking has come to satisfying fruition, now that Bucky seemed to have finally heeded his suggestion about directing his affections to Steve instead—that it’s occurred to Tony Stark that while he may have started down this road, this road of helping Bucky, _for_ Steve…to make Steve happy, he was still steadfastly pushing on, doing all he could as best he could, for _another_ reason now:

Bucky.

Tony was doing it _for Bucky_. Tony has been doing it for Bucky for a while now, actually.

For, against his best intentions and despite everything that was supposed to prevent it from happening, Tony Stark’s fallen in love with Bucky Barnes as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sigh* If only there would be art inspired by that photo strip's 4th panel... *wink wink*.
> 
> Any takers, anyone?


	32. 32. BUCKY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky seeks Tony out about the last BARF session and, facing a tough decision between pursuing Tony and giving Steve a chance, he finally confronts his fears and makes a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FIRSTLY, I am profusely sorry for taking a whopping one month before updating. My professional and personal life went through a hell of a wringer, and I encountered a writing speed bump because of a variety of reasons, the first being my job, which is getting hell-a frustrating. Second, I myself am resisting my own story notes. My heart was in an epic battle with my brain as to how to take this story leaping forward since we only have *eight* chapters remaining now, and reading this chapter, I think the struggle will be obvious to you, guys, that personally, I am in favor of one angle being the first. But I've had to write against myself and make another angle happen first because it makes the most sense for the rest of the story.
> 
> Third, Bucky's dilemma became my own, like, *literally*. I've had to AGONIZE about which one to choose if it were me, and this really put a damper on how fast I write. I love Tony and the natural-ness of the WinterIron angle so much but I feel like Steve deserves to be put out of his misery and since Stucky was the first angle the story introduced, yada yada yada... You will be able to read my anguish in every syllable here... Told through Bucky's voice. I hope it's not too unpalatable; I'd hate to have been able to make this epic build-up only to trip at the homestretch. 
> 
> I would need your feedback now more than ever actually. I need to know how organic the first angle turned out to be, seeing as I've had to dash quite a few hopes and go against the grain here... You know where the Kudos and Comment buttons are, right? *winks*
> 
> Again, I apologize for the delay. I hope you guys are still with me. To the very end of our journey. Thanks to the usual cheer-readers of the story, just a gentle reminder that none of the characters are mine but the fix-it plot and I'm not getting anything out of this, but only the abundant regard for these characters and you, my readers/friends. I hope you guys will have a terrific week and catch you next time!
> 
> ENJOY!  
> \---

If Bucky Barnes never has to undergo another reverse engineering session for the remainder of his natural life, it’d still be too soon.

The first three sessions were nothing short of hell on earth for Bucky. Every syllable of every programming word called up memories of the torture and the painstaking conditioning they had him go through that made him relive not only the horrors of each of his assassination missions but the terror of physical, psychological and emotional torture, which were particularly administered—for as often and as grueling as was needed—with the single-minded objective of erasing the person he was for him to become the monster they wanted him to be. He’d thought he was done with the constant and excruciating agony of losing himself over and over again, the fear, self-hate and guilt of realizing too late what heinous things he had been commanded to do. But apparently, they weren’t done with tormenting him.

It didn’t matter jack that for these interminable sessions, he’d had both Tony and Steve clutching at each of his hands to try to ground him and keep the feeling of being erased at bay, the procedure still fucking hurt. Like his skull was being drilled and his brains were being gouged out through the drilled hole with a sharp-edged spoon laced with acid. And he found himself drained of all vitality—his throat raw and sore from screaming, face wet with tears, skin pimpled with gooseflesh and body trembling uncontrollably—after _every damn time_ …

The only upsides to Bucky’s hellish life for the past few weeks were the memories of dancing the night away with Steve and the jaunt in the carnival with Tony. And then there was the impromptu BARF session after they’d come back from the carnival, which made Bucky realize that he may be in love with not one but _two_ people after all.

Of course, he had always known how _important_ Steve was to him. But for Bucky, it had never crossed his mind that _‘I value Steve’_ could mean the same thing as _‘I’m in love with Steve_ ’. Never. Until Tony had shown Bucky a different side of his life—his life which was otherwise full of suffering that was only alleviated by intermittent and broken memories of Steve, _with_ Steve, at least until the rest of the Avengers and Tony came along. It wasn’t so much that he was shown, but he was _reminded_ of how fiercely he’d held Steve in the highest regard. He had _cherished_ Steve in basically _every stage_ of his life that there had never been any question in his mind that he would readily lay down his life for his best friend. And it only took one night down memory lane for him to come to terms with the fact that perhaps had they been raised in a different time and culture, had there not been a war, had Bucky not been captured and used by HYDRA for over sixty years, had he not forgotten who Steve was, they could’ve had the chance to be something more. Something more than just best friends and brothers.

Because he had loved Steve—he _did_ love Steve.

The problem was Bucky was sure he felt the same way for _Tony_ as he did for Steve, and now, the recovering HYDRA asset was confused as all hell. He wanted to rejoice that he could entertain the idea of reciprocating Steve’s affection as his best friend so sorely deserved without feeling like he was being forced into it, but he wanted to lament the next-level complication that this realization has put him, Tony and Steve in.

How was he supposed to act around Tony and Steve now, knowing what he knew? That Tony had some kind of feelings for Steve brought about by his memories from the other dimension; that Steve, while vocally and openly communicative about his love for Bucky, could very well have repressed feelings for Tony, too, if Scott’s observation was anything to go by; and that Bucky, too, harbored romantic leanings towards the two Avengers.

Maybe Bucky would do well to choose what he really wanted to do— _who_ it was that he wanted in his life more, now that he might actually have a shot at living a semi-normal life after everything unfortunate that had happened thus far? Should he pursue Steve or Tony? Someone he could readily have a mutual and loving relationship with or someone who still needed a bit more convincing if both of them could just be brave enough to take a chance on each other?

However, if he were to continue down the path of bringing Tony and Steve together at his expense as he’d initially intended, he ought to be careful not to push too hard or he could affect the precarious reconciliation that the two men were currently enjoying. Not to mention, he’d be trampling on his own heart and destroying his own chance at happiness with someone he loved by pushing both of them into the arms of one another.

It was such a next-level-shit situation. Bucky bemoaned inwardly at the way the universe just refused to cut him some slack. Just when he was at the cusp of recovering from a particularly trying part of his life, he had another problem in his hands.

He supposed there was really no contest, and he was the only one making a mountain out of a molehill. This could easily be resolved by choosing to pursue someone who actually loved him back— _Steve_. Because it was with Steve that he might actually have a chance at a real, mutually-loving relationship to reinforce his continuing rehabilitation. A one-sided, turbulent love affair with an eccentric, genius billionaire who was equal parts passionate and aloof, selfish and altruistic—a study in contradiction and a self-confessed self-destructive lover was probably more trouble than it was worth given Bucky’s already precarious psychological and emotional state.

But if the choice were so _obvious and easy_ , then why all the hesitation and mental anguish on his part then?

“You OK, Buck?” Steve sliced through Bucky’s deep and murky thoughts, bringing the former asset out of his introspection. “If you’re not feeling up to this, we could postpone the session to another day,” offered Steve with a tinge of worry in his deep blue eyes. Steve was no doubt privy to Bucky’s constant struggle, showing up in these sessions and going through the unparalleled horrors, because any postponement to the proceedings was both a blessing and a curse.

It had already been two whole days since the last session, Bucky was raring to conclude the programming words and be all that much closer to his redemption. He didn’t need another day. He was just about to reassure Steve that he was up for it when he noticed that their party was incomplete.

Tony wasn’t around yet.

“We can start once Tony gets here,” Bucky said by way of reassurance to the others that he was ready for another round of mindfuckery.

“He texted to say he couldn’t attend the session because something urgent came up,” Natasha informed, continuing, “he told me to take over reciting duties today.”

The news both saddened and made Bucky suspicious all at once. He didn’t know why but he thought it was terribly _convenient_ for Tony not to be there just two days after the unconventional BARF session where Bucky’s memories were chock-full of Steve at every turn, it was impossible for a mere spectator not to make the natural conclusion that Bucky _might_ just be a tad in love with his best friend. Bucky could only hazard a guess as to how exactly that sat with the genius-billionaire what with the latter’s complicated memories of the Captain.

If Steve noticed a change in Bucky’s mood because of Tony’s absence, the former didn’t show it. “If it’d make you feel better to have Tony here, maybe we _should_ do this some other time—“

“—no, no… It’s—it’s fine. Tony’s a busy man; he can’t always be around for these sessions,” Bucky reasoned, more to try to convince himself than anyone else in the room. “We should go through with today’s. I mean…everyone else is here… I don’t want to waste your time by postponing when it’s perfectly all right for us to proceed.” Bucky nodded at Steve with a tight-lipped smile.

The procedure really wasn’t all that different with Natasha reciting the programming words in her husky alto instead of Tony’s lilting baritone. Though this time around, the fourth reverse engineering session, the severe agony brought about by the enunciation of the first few words of the programming sequence was gone, the discomfort, fear and apprehension were still there, nagging at him, but they were tolerable. The blinding pain like that of a corkscrew burying itself little by little in Bucky’s brain didn’t start until the enunciation of the eighth word that time. Automatically, Steve clasped Bucky’s flesh hand between his hands to ease the latter’s suffering albeit minutely, but this time, Bucky sorely missed the same encouraging pressure on his cybernetic hand that was usually within Tony Stark’s grasp.

Mercifully, the procedure came to an end with the utterance of the last programming word. They were all in agreement to call it quits early without taking a crack at some reinforcing work because both Wanda and Bucky looked absolutely done in. This suited Bucky just fine because he suddenly had a hankering to hunt Tony down and talk to him—try to explain what had gone down in the BARF hall two days previously or something. Smart fella like Tony wouldn’t have missed all the tell-tale signs in the BARF footage and Bucky felt like he needed to talk to the genius-billionaire about it, to see Tony’s reaction with his own eyes. Then maybe, it might ease Bucky’s own dilemma, make any decision he might be on the verge of coming to terms with, all that much easier to embrace.

As an additional excuse for seeking Tony out, Bucky came before the doors of the workshop bearing a tray of food as had become his habit. He didn’t know why he thought he needed something extra, like food, to make sure that Tony talked to him, but bringing Tony food was familiar territory. Bucky needed something _familiar_ to downplay how recent events in his life had shaken him to his very foundations.

It wasn’t just the realization that he could be in love with two people at once, but the fact that recovery—getting a normal-ish life and being free from HYDRA’s clutches—was achievable now more than it had ever been before. He could really put down roots here, call this place his home, and these people he’d been with for the past several months his family. He could be a part of the Avengers—fight villains and avert disasters with them, and at the end of a long day, share a meal and just hang out with them.

And he could be in a loving relationship with someone—someone he could grow old and wise with, someone he would want to be a better man for, someone he’d fiercely protect and care and love and who’d just as fiercely look out for him, too. Someone who could be his safe haven on stormy nights, in whose arms Bucky can find solace and calm.

Being intimate with someone else was something Bucky was less afraid of now.

If only his indecisive heart would cooperate—

“ _Sergeant Barnes is here,_ ” FRIDAY announced him just as the pneumatic doors to the workshop opened to admit him.

Tony barely looked away from the screens upon screens of codes, maps and coordinates but greeted, “hey—what’s up?”

“Hey Tony,” Bucky greeted back, gingerly placing the tray of food on the first available, uncluttered spot he found.

“How’d the session go?” Tony asked perfunctorily. He was still, for all intents and purposes, immersed in the work that Bucky had interrupted.

“Oh you know—the usual. Brain to soup by the end,” Bucky answered dismissively, shrugging, though Tony couldn’t have seen the gesture because he hasn’t bothered to look at Bucky since the latter entered the workshop. “It went without a hitch,” continued Bucky. _‘Except that I missed you there,’_ was left unsaid. It was better that it was; Bucky wouldn’t have been able to tamp down on the emotions that came with the statement.

“I’m sorry I missed it,” Tony answered as if he’d heard the silent statement anyway, finally looking away from his computer screens to steal a tangential glance at his visitor. “I tried to follow a lead on some of Ross’ potential contacts before it panned out. I’m chasing down a lot of hot trails at the moment—I had to stay on top of them, so I thought I’d let Natasha take over reciting duties for me.”

Bucky thought that as far as excuses went, it wasn’t a bad one. But there was just something else nagging at the back of his mind. And Tony’s abject refusal to even look him in the eye was not helping any when it came to alleviating his suspicions.

“You were busy,” said Bucky, matter-of-factly. “I understand.” He kept on standing there gawkily, watching Tony actively ignore his presence.

“Well, if there’s nothing else, B—I’m really swamped right now and—“

“—Are you trying to avoid me?” Bucky headed Tony off before the latter could dismiss him and the chance was lost. “Is this because of what happened after we got back from the carnival—the BARF footage?” Bucky sorely needed to clear the air with the other man in case the incident in question had anything to do with why Tony was— _maybe_ —withdrawing from him now.

For the first time since Bucky’d entered the workshop, Tony awarded him with a piercing look that made the ex-Sergeant momentarily forget what he was going to say. “Whatever gave you the idea that I’m trying to avoid you?” Tony asked with a mildly puzzled expression. “I just had a lot on my plate is all. Besides, why would the happy-BARF footage make me want to avoid you?” To Tony’s credit, he really did seem perplexed that Bucky wondered again if he was perhaps reading something in this that wasn’t there at all.

But Bucky knew what he saw on Tony’s face, in Tony’s eyes, that night when Tony had unobtrusively stood off to the side of the panels. There was no mistaking it even in the alternating light and shadow of the footage that the BARF exhibited: _tortured resignation_. Tony, of course, came to the same conclusion that Bucky did—that Bucky loved Steve and it was more than just friendly or brotherly love, too, and that Bucky thought the world of Steve…

As Steve thought the world of Bucky.

And there was no more cultural or legal prohibitions, no more nefarious HYDRA influence and Winter Soldier programming, no more miscommunication or personal apprehension between Steve and Bucky anymore. Steve loved Bucky; and Bucky apparently had always loved Steve, too. Theirs was—as Tony himself had said—the epic love story to trump all love stories there ever were. So what if Tony had these errant feelings and residual memories of being together with and married to Steve? There was no way in hell Tony could compete with or top _this_. There was nothing to it but to shatter inside and suffer in silence.

“I don’t know,” Bucky said, thoughtfully. “Maybe because you’re in love with Steve, and now that there’s a real chance that I feel for Steve what he’s always felt for me, you’re probably thinking that you would have to face the prospect of losing your husband again because this just ain’t that universe where Steve’s in love with you but with someone else instead,” Bucky rationalized, looking at the ground and feeling wretched, himself. If only he could make Tony understand that if there was anything in Bucky’s power to spare Tony from all this, he would do it.

Bucky braved a glance at the expression on Tony’s face, expecting ill-concealed pain there again, only to behold something that was closer to _‘nice try but are you absolutely sure about that?’_ Licking his lips and breathing a resolute sigh as if preparing himself to explain the most complicated mathematical equation to a kindergartner, Tony completely abandoned what it was he had been busy with to give Bucky his unadulterated attention and said, “look Bucky? What I feel for Steve... It’s _not real_ ,” he emphasized as clearly as he could. “But what the two of you feel for each other _is_.

“Steve was never mine for me to feel like he’s being _stolen_ away from me,” continued Tony with a hard-to-read half-smile. “Steve had never been anything else but _yours_ —it’s _you_ he’s always been in love with. And now that, thanks to me, you seem to have realized that you could reciprocate what he feels for you, too, you have a chance to see where this goes. You can actually try and be happy with him. And frankly, after everything you’ve been through, you both deserve it,” the genius-billionaire advised with the unmistakable twinkle of earnestness and well-wishing.

Stammering through some semblance of a coherent reply, Bucky said, “It’s just—it seems so, I don’t know, overwhelming? I don’t know if I should… I mean, isn’t it too early or too—I don’t—“ He mumbled a couple more unintelligible consonants before completely losing the thought of what he wanted to say in the first place:

That he wasn’t sure what it was he really wanted.

Because a month ago, he’d just come to terms with being in love with Tony, and he was fully convinced that all he had for Steve was nothing more than deep, brotherly regard. But now he’s started to think that maybe he could really be happy with Steve, only he didn’t want to hurt Tony for the reason that Tony cared for Steve no matter how much the genius wanted to downplay it, and Bucky, himself, was still pining for Tony, too.

With sympathy writ clear on his face, Tony strode towards Bucky, coming to within reaching distance of the other brunette. “There’s nothing to stop you now from pursuing your hopes and dreams, or any romantic aspirations, or any desire to have kids and start a family, you know. You can live your life to the fullest. With the conclusion of the reverse engineering process, you will have fully recovered already save for the occasional reinforcing sessions. _There’s nothing to be afraid of anymore, Bucky._ I mean, what other reason is there that’s keeping you from surrendering yourself to this chance to be happy with Steve?” Tony challenged.

Well, there’s— “ _You_ ,” Bucky simply said. Yes, there was still an undeniable part of him that hoped that Tony could find it in his heart to love him, too, that he could _be_ with Tony—wake up to Tony’s bright brown eyes every morning, fall asleep in Tony’s arms while listening to him sing at night, listen to Tony’s description of whatever cutting edge technology he was currently developing, kiss those lips, and envelop those calloused hands in his for the rest of his life. Bucky felt that he was mainly confused about what to do with his newly-realized feelings for Steve because he couldn’t let Tony go.

And yet, Bucky knew there was no way he could hurt Steve also if he were to pursue Tony. The indecision was making him heartsick. Like there was a spear plunging over and over in the depths of his heart, leaving his insides in shreds.

With a wry shake of his head and barked laughter, Tony took the final step taking him within Bucky’s personal space, cupped Bucky’s face between his hands, stared deep into the stormy blue eyes of the former HYDRA assassin and said, “hey—you’re not seriously still hung up on me, are you, Buckaroo?” Tony fondly patted Bucky’s cheek with a good-natured chuckle. “Because you don’t know how glad I was for you when I saw that BARF footage. In fact, I’ve never been gladder or more _relieved_ that you’re seeing things in a different light now because, really, your mental and psychological issues thus far are walks in the park compared to being in some kind of romantic relationship with me. HYDRA has nothing on me—or what kind of pipin’ hot mess I can reduce my paramours into. Listen, Steve’s good for you like _I_ will never be. And you have every right to know better and change how you feel about someone, and there’s nothing to feel guilty or bad about that.

“And for the last time, what I feel for Steve is _just an illusion_. And it’s something I’m already dealing with. _I’m_ not hung up on it and so _you_ shouldn’t be, because you, yourself, helped me cope with the memories, remember?” Tony said, his eyes shining with something unreadable. He gave Bucky’s cheek another pat before letting go, making Bucky miss the contact the very moment that Tony pulled his hands back.

Tony turned to walk away, but pirouetted on the balls of his feet almost instantly to look at Bucky once again. “Oh, and since we’re on the subject of my illusory feelings for Steve, I’m going to have to ask you to quit pulling not-so-subtle matchmaking moves to push the two of us together, and don’t try to deny it,” reprimanded Tony with a good-natured curl of his lips. “Don’t think for one second that I haven’t noticed. But, really, B—I would really appreciate it if you could stop. Because like I said, Steve is never going to be anything else but yours.

“So no, yeah—there’s nothing to worry about, big guy. I’m not going to be vindictive that I’d actually stop talking to you or helping you because you’re stealing Steve from me,” he said with a smirk laced with humor and mischief, emphasizing how incredulous he thought the last part of that statement was. “I would want to keep helping you— _I intend to_ …with the reinforcing and the cybernetic arm and everything else. I got your back. I’ll always be your friend, Buck,” Tony continued with an earnest, tight-lipped smile. There was nothing of the underlying pain and white lies that Bucky expected to find in Tony’s face. The latter seemed genuinely happy for Bucky and accepting of Bucky’s decision should he want to see where any venture with Steve would take him.

 _‘Just my friend?’_ Bucky sorely wanted to ask. But he didn’t. Perhaps Tony was right. It wasn’t Tony that Bucky needed in his life right now, and it wasn’t Bucky that Tony needed in his. Their broken parts’ jagged edges couldn’t slot in, were more incompatible than Bucky was prepared to admit. But this shouldn’t mean that they were going to throw away their friendship, too, no. Though a part of Bucky’s heart was breaking at the confirmation that Tony simply didn’t see him _that way_ , he had to get himself together—and settle for whatever it was they could still be: friends.

“I’m here for you,” Tony assured with a quiet fierceness to it. Like a promise that he would rather die first than have to break. “Always am. Always will be.”

The genius-billionaire turned his back to Bucky to pay attention to his screens again, leaving the other brunette to internally nurse the unbearable clenching of his insides. Heat pooled in his eyes, stinging and blurring his otherwise flawless vision. As Bucky saw it, he could either pursue Tony still and risk making the latter resent him with his stubbornness, or throw in the towel and accept that sometimes, some things just weren’t meant to happen the way you want them to.

He made a decision then and there. Tony was important to him; he had to have Tony in his life. The _how_ was immaterial.

Stealthily walking up behind Tony, Bucky raised a hand towards the nape of the other man’s neck and let it hover there with the remaining remnants of his uncertainty. Was he making the right decision? Would he regret this later on? Was it cowardice and stupidity to give up like this on someone he clearly loved?

Pulling his hand back, Bucky stepped right up against Tony’s back and embraced the slighter man from behind—torso and arms and all. He pressed his cheek against that spot where neck met shoulder and basked in the way that the ends of Tony’s hair at the nape of his neck tickled at the tip of Bucky’s nose as, squeezing his eyes closed and tightening his arms around the smaller man’s midriff, he breathed in the scent that was uniquely the engineer’s. This was probably the last time they were going to allow themselves to be this intimate that Bucky thought he could feel the beat of Tony’s own heart with the latter’s back pressed against his chest.

“Thank you,” Bucky managed to murmur, his lips tantalizingly close to the skin at the back of Tony’s neck. “You’ll always have me as a friend, too, you know. Always am, always will be.”

 _‘A part of me will always love you, Tony Stark,’_ Bucky wanted to say but couldn’t. _Didn’t_. He knew that much was true, but he’d made a decision to let the other man go; he was going to stick to it.

Tony bent his arms at the elbows to touch Bucky’s forearm, though the angle was a bit odd, and squeezed, opting not to muddle the gesture with words.

Extricating himself from Tony before he could waver in his decision, Bucky quickly left the workshop with purposeful strides. If he’d braved a glance back at Tony, he wouldn’t have been able to miss a stifled whimper that left Tony’s shoulders shaking for a long, long time after Bucky had gone.

-0-0-0-

Running into Steve before he could leave the residential building for his morning run was something Bucky didn’t particularly plan for. It just so happened that Bucky couldn’t get a decent shut-eye on the night after he’d sought Tony out in his workshop when the latter had missed the last reverse engineering session. So, he decided to take to the kitchen to nurse a cup of tea in the dimness and quiet of the wee hours of the morning.

Steve stumbled into him, getting ready to take his morning run an hour and a half earlier than usual. “Bucky… I wasn’t expecting you to be up this early. Can’t sleep?”

“Yeah, no—I, uh, just have a lot on my mind, I guess,” deflected Bucky, forcing a smile on his face. He’s been rehearsing in his mind as to how to talk to Steve about his recent realizations, but the last thing he was planning on doing was to talk to Steve at the crack of dawn and unload on the man what were supposed to be things he, himself, didn’t know how to deal with exactly.

Steve nodded absent-mindedly at the vague response, hesitating where he stood and probably internally debating whether or not to leave the conversation at that. “Say Buck—do you think you might want to distract yourself by going back to _‘Gators_ with me or something?” Steve casually invited, following that up quickly by saying, “or you know—just…anywhere but here so you could get your mind off the reverse engineering process and the prospect of going through deprogramming reinforcement sessions. As—you know— _friends_ , strictly platonic, no expectations whatsoever.”

Bucky had almost forgotten how endearing Steve looked when he was flustered. Even as a little guy that wouldn’t have withstood a stiff wind, Steve had already been charming in his own right. Sure, the girls Bucky used to coerce to go on a double-date with him and Steve didn’t use to think that highly of the diminutive, blonde young man, but Steve never had to worry about getting the same reaction from Bucky. Because Bucky had always given his best friend the highest regard.

It was funny that it was only now that it’s finally dawned on Bucky what that _high regard_ for Steve really meant.

He actually found himself excited at the idea of returning to _‘Gators_ or to any dance club, for that matter, with Steve that he actually felt his face heat up into a blush. “Or, you know, we can also try going out on a _date_ and see where things’ll take us…” Bucky floated the idea with a nervous shrug that he could easily dismiss as a joke if he found Steve wary or averse to the suggestion.

Steve was at the cusp of retracting his own offer when he gave a perceptible start, realizing exactly what Bucky had said. “Buck, you didn’t just say _date_ , did you?”

Bucky hung his head, bashful. “You caught me. I, uh, kinda did. But if you don’t want to then—yeah—we can always go as friends. Sure—like, you know, like the old days,” stammered Bucky to downplay the implications of what it was he’d just blurted out to his best friend.

“I want to!” Steve very nearly screamed, and realizing that he must have sounded positively crazy, he tried to collect himself and said in a less maniacal fashion, “I—I want to, Buck. I would want to go on a date with you. Very much.”

Bucky noticed that the happiness on Steve’s face was short-lived though, as the space between his eyebrows furrowed, which meant it was beginning to occur to him what exactly all of this meant. But before Steve could put those questions and misgivings into words, Buck beat him to it.

“I came to understand something, something that might have been there all these years,” Bucky began. “Only I was too afraid to give it a name. To acknowledge it, to allow myself to feel it. Because I’d thought nothing could come out of it, you know. I had myself convinced that I only loved you as a friend, a brother. But then, that was all we ever had a chance to be.

“I knew—I’ve _always known_ how important you are to me, Stevie. After my family, you are the most important person in my life. While I was captured that first time, before you found me in that lab, the only thing that got me fighting through it was the thought of seeing my family again—seeing _you_ again if I survived somehow. After I fell from the train, and HYDRA had me in and out of conditioning, during the days that I was more me than the monster they were slowly but surely turning me into, I didn’t wish that Captain America would find me like he did before. I wished that you were out there, living the life we’d always dreamed of spending together—with houses right next door to each other, kids who were best friends like we were, satisfying jobs and loving wives— _a happy life_. Because I would give the world just to have been able to give you that life, Stevie.

“The memory of you sustained me during those times that I wish I’d just fucking die already. The memory of you—alive, happy and content somewhere—kept me going until the very end. That was the last they took from me— _of_ me, the memory of you. I didn’t know who I was, where I came from but I kept seeing _you_ in my mind’s eye. Even when I didn’t have myself, I had you.

“After we found each other again, I was more wary than happy, really. I didn’t want you embroiled in the mess that was my life because you deserve better than that. I thought if I disappeared, I could protect you from me in more ways than one. After Berlin and Siberia, I was just afraid. I didn’t want you to throw away your life, your reputation, your _family_ for me. I’m not worth it. But you blew that concern all to hell, dint ya? So, when you told me you’ve always loved me, I choked. After all, I'm no longer the same person I used to be. And I was convinced that I’m not worth your love; _I still am_. Because all that love seemed to have brought you was pain.

“But I _did_ love you, Stevie. I _do_ love you. I don’t know what’s going to happen now. I’d like to think that I’m free of HYDRA. Then again, maybe it’s just an illusion. Maybe, I’ll never be free of them. But I… I can’t let them win. I don’t want to be afraid anymore,” Bucky said, half-choking on the very words Tony had used. He couldn’t buckle now. He’d already chosen. This was his choice.

It wasn’t that he was _settling_ for Steve because Steve was _safe_ and he couldn’t handle the idea of having to break down Tony’s walls, no. He loved Tony and Steve _both_. He knew that much was true. He loved Steve enough to want to see what trying would mean for them. He loved Tony enough to accept that Tony needed him as a friend than as a lover.

“If you’re willing to try to see where this goes, if you’re willing to put up with a jigsaw puzzle of a person—I’m up for it, if you are,” offered Bucky, stealing a glance at Steve, who up until then gaped at him, an inscrutable expression marring his boyish good looks. “Well, say something, punk. I’m feeling kinda exposed here…”

“That’s gotta be the longest you’ve ever spoken in one go since you woke up in April,” marveled Steve. He opened and closed his mouth, hesitating on what to say, how to say it. “Well, what do you want me to say? You already know how _I_ feel.”

 _‘Do I?’_ Bucky wanted to ask; a little voice at the back of his head reminded him of Scott’s revelation about what Steve, for his part, might feel for Tony.

“What about _Tony_?” Steve was the one who finally asked that which hung like a guillotine blade over their collective necks. “Aren’t you in love with him?”

“Yes,” Bucky answered truthfully. He wasn’t going to lie or sugar-coat anything for Steve coming in. He was going to be upfront with the blonde. “Yes I am. But some people just aren’t meant to be in your life the way you _want_ them to, but only in the way you _need_ them to.”

Bucky rose from his seat on the kitchen table and walked up to Steve, careful not to invade the other’s personal space in case Steve was still thinking of cutting and running. The ball was in the blonde’s court now.

“Maybe after _eighty years_ , the time is finally right for us?” Bucky murmured, swallowing the emotions threatening to spill from his lips and leak out of his prickling eyes. They’ve waited so long— _Steve’s_ waited so long. Perhaps this time, they finally have a chance…

Steve closed the remaining distance between them, reaching out to cradle the side of Bucky’s head in his hand and capturing the lips of the person he’s always loved all these long years with his own. Bucky could taste all the tears, laughter, fulfilled and unfulfilled hopes and dreams, kept and broken promises, missed and realized futures in Steve’s lips.

That one searing kiss said it all. And more.


	33. 33. STEVE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve thinks that his life is too good to be true, so to curb his paranoia, he starts spending time with Tony. But Tony's flippant attitude about his other 'verse memories makes Steve paranoid, too. With advice from Bucky, Steve comes up with a plan to be more proactive regarding his worries on the Tony front.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I missed my Friday mark but as it's still the weekend, maybe I can be forgiven for the two-day delay?
> 
> So, we're down to 7 chapters and I know that, like me, all of you are just about grinding your teeth to see the end of this story. It's getting so long, I know, but I hope you haven't given up on it yet. I do know that a lot of you were quite disappointed at the first angle I chose and some even unsubscribed (and some even left scathing comments filled with acid BEFORE unsubscribing, which is really...weird and cruel), BUT as we are all entitled to our opinion, feel free and yes, I will be a bit put out for all of five seconds but I will pick myself up again because there's still 7 more chapters to write on my baby and I will never give up on her and all of my friends who have decided to stick around. But for future reference, you might want to think about fandom ethics or something. Let's not be cruel to each other because fanfic authors DO THIS FOR FREE. They make time from their real lives to write these stories and as a reader myself, I try to make my criticisms as constructive and uplifting as possible so, yeah, keep to the Golden Rule everyone, k? Please be nice to your fellow fans. I don't moderate comments on here or tell off people for replying to other people's comments because I believe in freedom of expression, but please don't push it. 
> 
> And having said that, I'm done with my civic duty for the day. ^_^ I'd like to say a huge THANK YOU now to the usual commenters of this piece. YOU GUYS ROCK!!! And to the new commenters, those who have only stumbled into this fic recently, WELCOME!!! I hope you enjoy catching up to us. I would like to know your thoughts on the story, if you would be so kind as to share them. If there are any SPaG and plot consistency issues (since I have no beta and I just self-edit), I would LOVE to be told about them so I can rectify them to make this monster of a story cohesive for those who would be brave enough to try reading this in one go once it's finished. (Good luck to them!)
> 
> So enjoy the rest of your weekend, my dearests and I will see you again soon. ENJOY this chapter! And remember to be a blessing and a gift to your fellow fans!  
> \---

If someone were to ask Steve Rogers at the end of his birthday month what the happiest moment of his life was, he would have replied that his happiest moment thus far happened on his most recent birthday celebration—one he’d spent in the company of his whole Avengers family at the Barton family’s farm.

But that was _before_ _The Happiest Week in the Life of Steve Rogers_ happened upon him. Now, that week was nothing but a series of awesome, picture-perfect moments interspersed with naps and bathroom breaks. It was as if that period was the much-awaited and hoped for reward after the long toil that was all the hellish things in Steve’s life combined. All the bad consequences of his stupid decisions seemed to just melt away in the face of his unadulterated joy. _The Happiest Week in the Life of Steve Rogers_ also saw the Captain coast on the highest of clouds, spending nearly every waking moment with members of his Avengers family and Bucky.

Their training sessions have become more competitive and high-stakes but, at the same time, also more enjoyable and engaging what with their various skill sets and quirks, making for more diversified combinations and surprising consequences. Team activities like recreation nights, movie nights and meals have never been more pleasant when spent in the company of his family, seated beside the reassuring warmth that was Bucky’s. As if his whole life has been leading up to this.

The conflict that tore the team apart was behind them; the Accords have been amended, and it was a matter of time before the signing countries respectively ratified their assent to the new and improved document; he was home in the Avengers compound, in the company of his family; Tony has forgiven him; Bucky was already, for all intents and purposes, rehabilitated and was giving dating him a chance; and the team was very supportive of the two of them, intermittently teasing them whenever they exhibited the old-married-couple vibe. There was absolutely _nothing_ out there he still needed. Because everything he could ever hope for was already in his hands.

What was perhaps most surprising but most satisfying of all was the fact that Tony spent time with them— _more time_ than he ever did _before_ the conflict, even. And the engineer seemed to really enjoy the newfound camaraderie with their expanding team. Sure, there were days that Tony still casually referred to their much-missed teammates’ unique way of being or doing something with thoughtful melancholy in his honey-gold eyes—like Bruce’s near-inhuman love for tea and foreign movies or Thor’s tendency to bawl like a big, hairy, hammer-wielding baby when watching Disney cartoons—but for the most part, Tony was back to his usual hyper-verbal, sardonic, witty and flirty self, so much so that Steve would occasionally forget how difficult the road that took them here had been.

Steve was so giddy-happy he didn’t even have the time to feel marginally concerned or be the least bit jealous whenever he saw Bucky stealing a glance towards Tony’s direction, knowing full well that, despite Bucky’s willingness to see how they would fare at dating, the ex-Sergeant still had feelings for the genius-billionaire. It did sting a little to know that Bucky was still torn—Steve wasn’t going to lie—but he, nevertheless, appreciated Bucky’s candor. Besides, what mattered more to Steve was getting that chance to be with Bucky and being a family with Tony once again that everything else between the three of them was just background noise.

When the high of _The Happiest Week in the Life of Steve Rogers_ finally waned, Steve found himself disquieted for reasons strange and unknown even to him. Things were… _too perfect_ somehow that he suddenly felt like this was the calm before the storm, like he was being lulled into a false sense of security before all hell broke loose. Steve felt like it was _criminal_ to feel this happy because, surely, this must come at a cost—coming for him when he least expected it.

Steve didn’t know what it was about the current state of affairs that was troubling him. Perhaps it has something to do with Ross? Steve didn’t like that they didn’t know where Ross was, what he was planning next. Or where his allies were, presumably cooking up conflicts for the team.

Maybe it was the _team_? Steve didn’t like that Peter’s sense of self-preservation was too low during their training sessions because the kid felt like he could take the hit anyway. Steve didn’t like Sam’s increasing dependence on Red Wing. Steve didn’t like Wanda's single-minded focus on mastering her power to prevent another Lagos that she was too critical of herself at times, beating herself up for the littlest mistakes.

Or maybe it was the way his SHIELD consultancy was going? Steve didn’t like how his batch of recruits that he’d broken down into little groups still couldn’t jive well no matter how much he experimented on the combinations and permutations of the skill sets of every member in every group.

He didn’t know where the anxiety could be coming from, but it was beginning to taint what was otherwise a happy affair of finally being able to date someone he’d loved for the better part of over eighty years.

And he didn’t want his unjustified disquiet to rub off on Bucky. The latter was still trying to be confident in his healing, after all, that the last thing Steve wanted to do was agitate Bucky because of his uneasiness. So, to quiet his brewing inner storms, Steve took to haunting either the training room or the gym more often to spar with either Natasha or Sam or whoever he would happen upon at any given moment. The problem with that, though, was there was no hiding from Nat or Sam that something was bothering him. _Explaining_ to them what exactly that was was the tricky part.

The one person Steve didn’t seem to mind being around, even in his near-constant state of restlessness and groundless paranoia, was _Tony_.

At first, it surprised even him when, one day out of the blue, he went to check on Tony in the latter’s workshop and Steve ended up staying for hours giving Tony a hand in the many, many projects on the genius’ plate. Tony involved and engaged him in a way that going through three heavy-duty punching bags in one gym session until his knuckles bled could never accomplish. More than making him forget about his paranoia and dread, hanging out with the genius both entertained and spurred him to put his energy somewhere more proactive than being on tenterhooks all the damn time. Steve felt so grounded and productive after that first time spent in Tony’s workshop that he found his feet straying towards Tony’s space more often after that whenever he would feel the first stirrings of edginess again.

So, whenever Bucky was in the company of the others—for, of course, Steve didn’t want to keep Bucky all to himself, and contrary to the team’s opinion, they were hardly joined at the hip—Steve sought _Tony_ out, offering his assistance whether it be to move equipment, hold machine pieces steady while Tony soldered, discuss with Tony for the best means to smoke Ross out, or just polish off what remained in a bag of chips that Tony happened to have lying around. Sometimes, they talked about their work for SHIELD; Steve would lament how he felt like he wasn’t getting much traction with his recruits and Tony would talk about any engineering breakthroughs he’s had with his team of scientists. Other times, they discussed current events, politics, Hollywood gossip, recent books and movies. Rarely would they talk about Bucky; Tony would always be the one to bring it up, and Steve would answer the other man’s casual questions perfunctorily. Steve saw it fit to steer the conversation away to some other topics if they got any close to discussing Steve and Bucky’s relationship.

The blonde found it uncomfortable to talk to Tony about where Steve and Bucky stood in the romantic relationship spectrum because it reminded him of Bucky’s confession of being in love with Tony still, and Steve didn’t want to resent Tony for Bucky’s continued feelings for the man; after all, it was hardly Tony’s fault that Bucky was still pining for him!

Another matter that never seemed to crop up in Steve and Tony’s conversations was Tony’s memories from the other dimension. Now _that one_ , Steve was the one hell-bent on bringing up at every possible opportunity but Tony was always quick to change the subject through well-timed quips and anecdotes. Steve respected Tony’s need to keep the matter private. Didn’t mean he wasn’t curious to know more and disturbed by Tony’s evasion, though.

Steve’s newfound habit to gravitate towards the genius-billionaire extended also to whenever they were at SHIELD HQ for their consultancy. Steve, thinking that it would be in poor taste to get too familiar with the recruits he was supposed to be whipping into shape but that it would be pathetic were he to eat by himself, always looked for Tony to catch some lunch with the latter, who, for his part, was in the habit of leaving by early afternoon after working non-stop since the crack of dawn.

And so it went for a fortnight after _The Happiest Week in the Life of Steve Rogers_ that the blonde fell into an unexpected routine with one Tony Stark.

Today was no different as Steve intercepted Tony before the brunette could hit the square on the way to the parking area. “Hey Tony—how about some lunch, huh?”

“Still giving the SHIELD cafeteria personnel the benefit of the doubt regarding their take on what’s edible and what’s not, I see,” joked Tony with a slight eye roll.

“Well, we can eat somewhere else, if you want,” offered Steve, shrugging.

“What will your beau think once he gets wind from loose-lipped SHIELD peeps how you’re spending your lunch hour with an attractive billionaire behind his back?” Tony asked with an amused ‘tsk’.

Falling into stride with the other man, Steve muttered more to himself than anything, “oh he’d definitely be jealous, but not for reasons you think.” He knew he ought to resent Bucky’s enduring feelings for Tony more than he actually did. Steve supposed that it was another surprise that he didn’t.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Tony asked, having failed to catch Steve’s statement. Steve thought it advantageous that Tony didn’t have enhanced hearing like he did, or he would have a ball trying to explain himself to the other man.

“I said _‘I’ve been craving some Indian; what about you?’_ ” Steve re-stated, casually avoiding having to address Tony’s pending concern.

Tony, though mumbling to himself the entire time, grudgingly kept at Steve’s heels on the way to the nearest Indian cuisine place. The restaurant was blessedly empty perhaps because of the fact that it was already way past the usual lunch hour. They seated themselves and placed their orders with the very accommodating wait staff before picking up where their conversation left off.

“No, really—I mean it, Cap, you’re spoken for now. And I know that the media is still convinced that I’m an incorrigible man-whore,” Tony rattled off with an unquestionably resentful expression on his face. “But contrary to popular belief, I’m _not_ actually in the habit of breaking couples up, so you know…maybe you ought to get Bucky’s clearance about these public lunches first?”

“You’re in the clear,” Steve answered, clearing his throat slightly. “Because Bucky and I _aren’t_ a couple. Not yet.” He was careful about how he broke the news to the team: he and Bucky have decided to try dating each other. He and Bucky both agreed that they wanted to see where this might lead, but they were hardly in a hurry to label themselves as _boyfriends_ , or a _couple_ or something, especially since Bucky was still getting deprogrammed and Steve didn’t feel all that comfortable dragooning Bucky into a relationship despite knowing that the ex-Sergeant still had a thing for Tony.

“Well, why _the hell_ not?!” Tony asked, his eyes narrowing into slits. He leaned against the backrest of his seat with a cock of his head, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked primed for whatever long explanation was supposed to accompany the revelation.

“We want to see where this goes; we thought we’d enjoy the road getting to wherever it is we’re going without putting labels on what we’re supposed to be,” explained Steve with a purse of his lips and a vague gesture. “We don’t want the pressure of committing this early—I mean, _Bucky_ …is still recovering and I don’t want to rush into anything before he’s ready. We’d rather take our sweet time, you know? Go out on dates, go dancing, cuddle, make o—“

“—but why delay the inevitable?” Tony interrupted, throwing a hand out between them. “There’s nowhere else you’re headed but there _anyway_ , so why go through all the charade of dating with no strings attached when you can already be an old married couple both in name and in practice? For all intents and purposes, _you already are_ ,” argued Tony, speaking with frantic hand gestures. “I don’t understand the hesitation to call it what it is. You boys already make the entire team’s teeth rot with your obvious devotion for each other; why wait to commit?”

 _‘Bucky can’t be all that devoted to me as long as he remains in love with_ you _, can he?’_ Steve asked inwardly. And no, neither he nor Bucky wanted to admit that _that_ was partly the reason for holding back and taking things between them slowly. Bucky was still confused, but he was hell-bent on trying, and Steve wanted to try, too, and he couldn’t really blame Bucky for his feelings for Tony.

Steve could understand completely why Bucky had grown to love Tony. Tony was not a difficult person to love. Though Steve had started out with an actual list of Tony Stark’s less-than-redeeming attributes, the billionaire had turned out to be not quite what the Captain first expected. Tony Stark was smart, witty, passionate, strong-willed, confident in his own skin, understatedly kindhearted, and secretly heroic. It had damn well near broken Steve’s heart to have to be against Tony in their conflict brought about by the Sokovia Accords and Bucky because Tony had been one of the main reasons that Steve had come to consider this time and the Avengers his home.

If Tony had ended up succumbing to his coma all those months ago, Steve wouldn’t have known what to do with himself, how to start forgiving himself for having hurt Tony and when to stop grieving for having been too late to save someone as near and dear to him as Tony was. As Tony always would be.

“Oh, you know, it’s so I have nothing to feel guilty about when I take this attractive billionaire out to lunch,” casually answered Steve, throwing what he knew was his adorable USO tour smile to try to divert the conversation away from him and Bucky’s ‘relationship’ before he found himself regretting asking Tony out to lunch in the first place. But Steve knew he’d definitely made things a bit weird when he saw Tony stiffen for all but a moment before the genius was shaking his head with wry amusement at Steve’s uncharacteristic quip. Steve thought he might have only imagined Tony’s knee-jerk reaction to the statement he’d said in jest, but it was too noteworthy to just be dismissed as something merely imaginary.

Steve was only half-listening as Tony took charge of the conversation again to drone on and on about SHIELD Director Mace’s reaction when Tony first pitched the upgrades to various SHIELD tech that Tony’s been working on as part of his consultancy work. The Captain’s brain swam with what bits and pieces he could remember about the circumstances surrounding Tony’s memories from the other dimension, gleaned from his own terse conversations with Tony or from what little information Bucky had that the latter had deigned to share with Steve. He itched to bring the subject matter up with Tony again if only to see how Tony would try to deflect again. Judging by Tony’s ghost of a reaction earlier, Steve had a nagging feeling at the back of his mind that Tony was not being completely candid with him about getting a handle on those memories after all.

Tony was in the middle of telling him about a minor accident with one of the junior scientists in his team when Steve almost rudely interrupted his lunch companion’s monologue by asking: “do you still miss him a lot?”

“Wha—what are you… Miss _who_?” Tony asked, stumped.

“Him… _Steve_ —your husband, Steve,” replied Steve, blinking owlishly at Tony but keeping his attention on the other man so as not to miss even the slightest twitch of a reaction. “Tony, how are you really coping with the remnants of your stay from the other dimension? Every time I try to bring it up, you always change the subject and…I guess I’m just concerned if you’re really able to deal with that, what with Bucky’s rehabilitation, Ross stirring up trouble, working with SHIELD and hanging out with us… I’m just—I wanna know if you need some—“

“—Let me stop you right there, Cap.” It was Tony’s turn to interrupt. “I’m _fine_ , all right? I’m dealing with it just fine. I have everything under control; having a lot to do helps me handle things better. And, you know, the fact that I’m not leaping over this table to jump your bones says something about how well I’m handling things, ‘m just sayin’… If I’m still having difficulty with the situation, then I wouldn’t be hanging out with you guys—with _you_ —so often now, would I?” Tony was just a tad annoyed while he explained, but Steve took comfort in the fact that Tony was not his usual deflective self when it came to the issue of his other dimension-memories.

“I guess I’m just worried that you’re only sweeping this all under the rug instead of taking control of things. I hope you know that if there’s anything I can do to help you, Tony— _with anything_ —I’m just here,” offered Steve, boring his eyes into Tony’s honey-gold ones.

“You did help, too, you know. You just didn’t know it at the time,” informed Tony. “Bucky suggested to me before to try to find out how different you are from him— _my husband_. He told me to hang out with you often to see those differences for myself. That way, I could stop seeing him in you, and I would stop feeling so…weird around you, too.” Tony explained, absent-mindedly poking at the pieces of reddish chicken still on his plate with his fork.

“And did you find what it was you wanted?” Steve asked, plowing on ahead while Tony was generously still on the subject. “Are we…? Are we so different?” Steve continued, a hollow feeling was beginning to burgeon from the depths of his gut.

“Yes. Yes, you are,” confirmed the brunette. “ _Very_ different. As different as two people could be.” Tony grinned, his eyes crinkling along. But there was something else in those eyes for a fleeting moment that though Steve was able to catch, he wasn’t able to decipher.

The hollow feeling budding in Steve’s gut turned into a full-on ache from his diaphragm that resonated all over his torso, down his left arm, up to the base of his skull. Steve smiled at Tony through the pain, effectively ignoring it. He didn’t know why the confirmation ached as much as it did. Or maybe a part of him did, only he thought there was no use acknowledging it. Tony had already confirmed it after all. Steve was _nothing_ like Tony’s husband—the husband he’d loved with everything he was that, even until now, almost a year after waking up from the coma, he obviously still missed, grieved the loss of, probably wanted to be with if he could.

Steve only hoped his counterpart from the other dimension knew exactly how special he was that Tony Stark loved him. Clenching his jaw to inwardly take the reins to his runaway emotions, Steve tried to conceal what was eating at him by turning his attention back to his lunch before Tony could notice that anything was amiss. Steve didn’t think it was possible but he was actually sorry for bringing up the subject of Tony’s memories from the other dimension this time.

“And now that you and Bucky are _dating_ , me realizing that couldn’t have come at a better time. Either way, I don’t think Buckaroo would appreciate any form of competition. Even a one-sided one,” continued Tony, with a mock toast of his mango yogurt shake.

Steve decided to keep shoveling food in his mouth and chewing rather than responding to that. He didn’t know how to, if he was being honest with himself. But since he didn’t want the lunch to suddenly be filled with tension that was his own fault anyway for stupidly bringing this topic up, Steve decided to diffuse the situation further. “So, since we’re not cheating on anyone and we’re not dredging up unwanted memories by hanging out, now is probably as good a time as any to remind you of that dinner you kinda owe me,” he jokingly reminded the other man.

“What dinner?” Tony asked, wide-eyed and stumped again.

“The one when you ditched me and tricked me and me and Bucky ended up together…”

“Hey—you should be _thanking me_ profusely for that one, Cap,” Tony replied, fighting down a laugh. “If not for my superb matchmaking skills, you wouldn’t be dating your beloved Bucky now!”

A pregnant pause.

“Thank you, Tony,” Steve softly remarked. “For _everything_.” For being the fighter that he was and waking up from his coma. For giving Steve another chance to be his family. For helping Bucky back on his feet. For offering Steve a home, a family, a cause. _For everything_ …

A beat. “That’s what friends do, Steve,” replied Tony with equal sincerity. “Argh! If only Ross and his vendetta against the amended Accords are as easily resolved as Captain America’s love life, my life would be fucking perfect!”

“He’s still keeping under the radar then?” Steve asked, concerned.

“Not even the combined power of the SI servos and satellites and Tony Stark’s wits can dig him from wherever hidey-hole he’d dug for himself,” admitted Tony. “I’m starting to think it’s not just about a show of firepower but underhanded cunning that’s gonna smoke him and his minions out. And I can’t exactly do any illegal hacking using the legit resources of the Avengers or SI. I try to do what I can within the bounds of the law, but nothing near powerful or explosive enough to get him to make a misstep on his future plans or to tie him up to past attacks. Not to mention I’m getting paranoid that we have eyes and ears piggybacking in the Avengers facility’s premises and equipment, giving Ross the leverage to stay ahead of us in this cat-and-mouse game.” Tony angrily speared a piece of cauliflower on his plate, shoved it in his mouth and chewed.

“You’ll let me know if there’s anything I can help you with on that, right?” Steve asked. He found that the easiest way to get Tony to share information and to ask for help was not to command him, but to offer.

“Sure thing, but can we talk about something else now? Ross is putting me off my lunch, and it’s a _shame_ because this chicken is really awesome,” Tony requested, which Steve was only too glad to acquiesce to.

-0-0-0-

Steve believed he should have been able to focus more on some other aspects of that lunch at the Indian restaurant with Tony, but all that stuck to him was the indecipherable look in Tony eyes when he’d told Steve that the latter and Tony’s husband in the other dimension were as different as two people could get. Steve started to think about what that look could have really meant that very same night as he lay sleepless beside Bucky’s peacefully slumbering figure.

Steve and Bucky have taken to sleeping next to each other some nights because Bucky’s confessed to finding it difficult still to fall—and stay—asleep. Steve honestly couldn’t remember who between the two of them had broached the idea to try to sleep together, but he had to admit that there were definite advantages to it. They haven’t progressed to anything more than sleeping and cuddling together, though, but neither of them was in a hurry. They’d said they were going to try to see where this goes, and that was exactly what they were trying to do.

And so, Steve lay wide awake that night, and for several more nights after that, thinking about that look that Tony had given him. He replayed the conversation and that look over and over in his mind in effort to make sense of it. Tony had seemed all right with how he was coping with the memories from the other dimension. Steve surmised that Tony was only uncomfortable discussing them because of the emotions that get dredged up every time he did talk about them. And that made sense. Tony assured Steve over and over that he was fine. Or so he said…

Steve also knew Tony to be a mighty fine actor, who could compartmentalize and temporarily throw thoughts and emotions he didn’t need in a given situation to the back burner to be dealt with much, much later or never. Never was preferable. And despite his best intentions to stop doubting Tony and start trusting him as friends do, Steve couldn’t help but suspect that Tony was not being honest with him.

Above and beyond losing sleep thinking and worrying about Tony, Steve started to watch the genius-billionaire surreptitiously, too. He desperately wanted to catch Tony drop the mask of confidence and contentment for Steve to catch the vulnerability behind it. Over the years, Steve had learned to trust his gut instincts, and right now his instincts kept telling him not to take Tony’s assurances at face value.

The Captain watched Tony during meals; he observed Tony’s demeanor during team trainings, at times, partnering up with Tony himself to keep a very, very close eye on the slighter man; he surveilled Tony and memorized the different variations of the brown-eyed man’s smile, the expressions on his face, the way his eyes lit up when he was amused, the way his lips pursed when he was curious, the way his brows furrowed when he was annoyed, during movie nights or rec nights when they played poker, monopoly and UNO, when they did karaoke, when they fired up the gaming console, when they played conventional games like charades and Bingo; Steve kept up with the scrutiny when he was alone with Tony in the latter’s workshop, helping him with one thing or another. He wanted to see Tony drop the act even for just a heartbeat. Only he never did.

But that didn’t mean that Steve stopped suspecting. Or watching and waiting for Tony’s carefully put up façade to slip.

The only respite to Steve’s restlessness that was exacerbated by his suspicions about Tony were the handful of actual dates he and Bucky went on, some of which Tony even helped plan.

Steve and Bucky had gone back to _‘Gators_ again. They’d been to several art galleries and museums. They’d gone to Broadway for a musical, seen several movies and eaten awesome dinners both in hole-in-the-wall and fancy restaurants. In all of their outings, not once did Bucky notice or call Steve out on being distracted though the latter felt like he was if only very slightly. Steve knew he was being damn unfair to Bucky for keeping the latter out of the loop of Steve’s concerns when they’d made a pact to see where this whole dating thing would take them. And Steve couldn’t even be upfront with Bucky regarding his paranoia about a whole slew of stuff.

It was just that he didn’t want to weigh a still recovering-Bucky down with his woes, so he’d kept his mouth shut and did his level best to pay attention to Bucky when they were together. And he must be hiding his edginess well if his frequent date was thus far unaware of it.

There would be those handful of times, though, when Steve caught Bucky looking at him while he watched Tony, and he would avert his eyes quickly and try to appear unperturbed about being caught staring. As Bucky never called him out on those, too, he felt like he had gotten away with it.

Oh, how very wrong he was!

He and Buck were preparing for bed in Steve’s room after having just returned from a classical music concert, the tickets to which Tony, himself, had so generously procured for them, when Bucky suddenly brought up something that nearly made Steve choke on the toothpaste as he had been brushing his teeth. “You seemed more distracted than usual tonight, Stevie. Oh and by the way, if you don’t let up a bit on watching Tony, he’s going to call you out on it one of these days and accuse you of practicing some kinda mind control magic on him or something,” Bucky commented while unfurling the blanket on the bed and crawling under it.

Sputtering through the toothpaste he’d nearly swallowed, Steve asked, “you noticed that?!”

“ _Which one_ —the fact that you seem distracted lately or the fact that you’ve been staring at Tony as if he’s going to vanish the next moment, never to be seen again?” Bucky asked with wry amusement. “What—you think _I_ wouldn’t notice? I’ve known you since we were kids and we’ve been buddies for nearly a century now, punk; I can read your every facial expression and body language like a fucking book. I should feel damn well _insulted_ that you think I wouldn’t notice, Stevie.”

“I’m so sorry, Bucky,” apologized Steve. “It was stupid of me not to talk to you about what’s been bugging me. I just didn’t want to unnecessarily burden you with my issues because I know you still have your hands full with the deprogramming reinforcement sessions.”

“Well, care to share what it is that’s been bugging you lately then?” Bucky asked, continuing, “Maybe it’d be an easier burden to carry between the two of us, huh?”

Steve told Bucky everything—about Ross, about his SHIELD trainees, and most especially about Tony. “I’ve been watching him to try to see if he drops the mask of complacency. He’s far too dismissive and tart about his memories of another me from another dimension. I’m worried that the truth is: he’s still very much affected by those memories and he’s going to end up doing something stupid,” lamented Steve, joining Bucky in bed by crawling under the sheets himself.

“Stupid? Like, how stupid?”

“You know—like, ‘go talk to Stephen and arrange to go back to that dimension’ level of stupid.” That was what Steve was real worried about. “I don’t like it that I don’t know what’s running through his mind. And I’m scared that he’s being uncharacteristically sociable and affectionate because he’s lulling us into a false sense of security and he’s stocking up on good memories with us while he can until he leaves me because he has every intention of going back to that other dimension, to this—this person— _his husband_ , and this other place where he’d been happy like he’d _never_ been with me— _us_ , here.” Steve had never resented this other universe more than he did now—this other universe where Tony’d left his heart, where Tony’d known happiness and love like he’d never known here, in his own universe, because his friends had been assholes, who had betrayed and abandoned him; because he and Pepper had broken up and he was alone.

“You think he’s going to leave you?”

“What?” Steve asked, a bit panicked. He tried to recall what it was he’d said exactly. “I meant us— _all of us_. He’s going to leave us to go back to that other dimension and he’s trying to assure me that he’s coped with it, but the truth is he’s thinking of going back…or—or maybe he’s set a deadline for himself to decide… I don’t know, Buck, I just… He’s important to me—he’s—he’s my friend, my _family_ ,” rambled Steve, crumpling a handful of the sheets within his fist. “I’ve only just gotten him back, and I’m scared that I’m gonna lose him.”

Bucky entwined his surprisingly warm metal fingers through Steve’s and placed it on his blanket-covered thigh. They simply sat there, holding hands and unspeaking as Bucky gave Steve some time to gather his composure again.

“He’s important to you, too, isn’t he?” Steve finally spoke again after the comfortable silence. “What should we do? He doesn’t want to talk about it; he doesn’t want my help; he’s reassuring when he says he’s moved on, but there’s something else that’s hard to read in his eyes that makes me think like he’s…suffering through some sort of indecision to stay—or—or to go... What do we do, Buck?”

“I can talk to him,” offered Bucky, becoming thoughtful now, too. “But I’m not sure that me talking to him will do much to reassure _you_.” Bucky leaned back on the bed’s headboard, crossing his arms over his chest and bringing a thumbnail between his teeth. “Why don’t you spend time together—you know…outside of the compound, outside of SHIELD HQ? And don’t talk about your work woes or your misgivings about Ross or your doubt about his coping mechanisms. Just—just spend time together, bond, go crazy—do something neither of you has ever done before. Do something you’ve never done together before. Then maybe, more than you pestering him if he’s all right or if he needs help, you can _convince_ him that this universe is where he belongs. That with you—with _us, his family_ —is where he should be.”

Bucky was right, of course. Steve suddenly felt doubly foolish for not going straight to Bucky for advice on this. Especially since he cared for Tony as much as Steve did…

Or _not_ —or—or rather, _Bucky_ , being the one still in love with Tony, actually cared for the genius-billionaire even more than _Steve_ did… Was that right…? _The point_ was _both_ of them cared for Tony. Who cared more, who cared a bit differently, was not the point.

Steve leaned in towards Bucky and gave him a languorous kiss of thanks, a knowing smile already breaking on his lips. He knew exactly what to do now. He was already making plans for the excursion with Tony even before his head hit the pillow.

Two days later, he was ready, so he accosted Tony as the latter was going for his nth cup of coffee in the kitchen of the residential building. He was ready with his spiel, inviting Tony for a day of relaxation—free of any Ross-, SHIELD- or Avengers-related business. He wasn’t going to take no for an answer, too.

Taking the truck Steve borrowed from Rhodey with the precious cargo of everything they would need in the rear, Steve wasted no time to whisk themselves off to Central Park.

“ _Central Park_? Really Cap? You cashed in on the dinner I supposedly owe you to drag me to Central Park,” stated Tony with a half-annoyed, half-exasperated look on his face. “I could be scouring South Africa for Ross’ pasty ass right now, but no—you said you wanted to hang out and this is the best plan you can come up with?”

“I was thinking of doing something we’ve never done together, and we’ve never hung out in Central Park together,” Steve pointed out. “And this is probably the last good day of the season before it starts to get cold around here. Nice and windy without too much sun to impair the vision—perfect. Come on, let’s get the supplies at the back,” invited Steve, cocking his head towards the rear of the borrowed truck.

“I’m just saying…you better buy me a sundae as big as a bucket later to compensate me for this,” threatened Tony. His annoyed countenance more pretend now than real as he followed Steve to the back of the truck. “Don’t tell me we’re having a picnic because, really, Bucky should be putting his foot down on any grand plans such as this.” He had obviously noticed the wicker basket peeking out from the corner of the sackcloth covering their supplies for the day.

“Hey, picnics happen to be _fun_! And yeah, we’re going to find a nice patch of grass for a picnic later, but first I thought we could—“ Steve brushed the sackcloth completely off his so-called supplies with an excited flourish to reveal a kite, about two meters from wingtip to wingtip, in Iron Man colors. “—Go kite-flying. So…you up for it?”


	34. 34. TONY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Steve spend a day in the park where Tony comes to terms with difficult realizations for which he tries to go to Strange for help. Will Strange indulge him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOT OFF THE PRESSES, Y'ALL!!!!! I know my update schedule is being blown sky high with these unscheduled updates but I want to try to keep to at least a once-a-week update. I missed the weekend so I am sorry to have to put this up in the middle of the week.
> 
> Six chapters left, y'all!!! Are we excited to see the conclusion to this or what?! Is the end getting clear or not? Hmmm? We see the return of Stephen Strange and his voice of otherworldly reason to clear a few things up with Tony. How do you feel about his advice? Do you think he's in the right or Tony's better off without his other 'verse memories? Dun Dun Duuunnnn. Well! I won't spoil anymore...
> 
> Comments and Kudos still make my heart sing so you know where the buttons are, right? Give me a heads up for any SPaG issues and plot inconsistencies because this is still in its unbeta-edited glory.
> 
> **Updated in celebration of my grandfather's birth anniversary today, June 20th. My Lolo Emmy has always been my biggest fan, and a lot of the rellies always said I got the poetic genes from him. I guess this means, we have him to thank for the way I write. I miss and love you, Lolo. ^_^
> 
> Enjoy the rest of the week, my dearies! Keep your chins up, K?  
> \---

Tony has always taken pride in his top-notch ability to stare at grief in the face and detach himself from it without giving any indication to anyone just how much he was hurting. He had learned that art from dealing with his father for years, honed it during the course of his complicated relationship with Pepper through the effective use of humor, sarcasm and deflection, and damn well near _perfected_ it because of his experiences with the Avengers. Tony once thought that there couldn’t possibly be any pain greater than the Captain’s betrayal and abandonment and the subsequent rift in his superhero family, or his decision to leave his perfect life in the other dimension behind.

But he couldn’t have been more wrong.

Because the pain of pushing someone you loved into the very arms of another person you couldn’t help but have feelings for as well was incomparably excruciating, it felt eerily similar to walking around in a near constant state of cardiac arrest and waiting for you to keel over, dead.

Tony supposed he didn’t have anyone to blame but himself because he cared for Bucky too much that he thought he’d spare the former Sergeant from the self-destructive and chaotic Casanova that was Tony Stark. Bucky didn’t need the drama, self-loathing, paranoia, the media fanfare, the constant second guessing, the disappointment of always losing out to SI and the Avengers for Tony’s limited time and attention; Bucky needed the stability and the conviction, the gallantry and the unquestionable devotion of _Captain America_. Tony would just end up hurting and disappointing Bucky like what had happened with Pepper, and Bucky, who was still, for all intents and purposes, recovering from the mindfuckery of HYDRA, deserved none of that.

And besides, all the love in this universe and the next couldn’t make Tony put himself first at _Steve’s_ expense.

Steve had loved Bucky nearly all of his life, so even though Tony knew that Bucky loved him, too, and wouldn’t be averse to dating him at all if he’d cared to ask, Tony knew in his heart of hearts that there was no way he could knife Steve in the back like that. So, even though it just about broke him to keep his feelings from Bucky that day that the ex-Sergeant had sought him out after missing a reverse engineering session, the genius-billionaire held his tongue and let Bucky walk away.

After his absolutely _stupid_ act of selflessness, Tony seriously considered going full-on, unapologetic hermit again—complete with waist-length beard and abject refusal to socialize with anyone with a pulse, but what little interaction he had already had with his family in the interim already did the job of making the genius detest the isolation and crave the company. He wanted to lick his wounds where Bucky and Steve wouldn’t see (and he, in turn, wouldn’t see how domesticated and teeth-rotting the two super soldiers were together that was sure to open more gaping wounds), but he didn’t want his relationship with the rest of the team to suffer, especially when they were only now, getting re-acquainted with each other.

Ergo, Tony resolved to spend time with the team and endure seeing Steve and Bucky together; he was going to endure the torture, and endure and _endure_ until it stopped hurting eventually. For of course, there was bound to be an end to it all. Sooner or later, he was going to learn to live with the sting of seeing those two together while he, ironically, remained alone.

He had to admit that the first time he was treated to the sight of Bucky and Steve together, he only survived the experience because the mantra _‘this is what you wanted; this is what you wanted; this is what you wanted,’_ repetitively ran in his mind until he was rendered near numb from the ordeal. As the experiences multiplied, however, Tony realized that he would rather endure seeing the two super soldiers happy and content in each other’s arms—in other words, see the positive outcome of his sacrifice—than not see the two of them at all. The pain was still there, but it became somewhat bearable knowing what had come at his expense.

If Rhodey and Pepper knew even half of this craziness, they would give him a good shake and rebuke him for being a masochist. And Tony supposed this indeed made him one. But as he had already tried hiding away and nursing his pain in isolation—which was a resounding failure, by the way—he thought he’d try the alternative. If he was going to be in pain over Bucky and Steve, he might as well spend it in the company of the family he was trying to rebuild, and maybe something good would come out of it. Or at least, he _hoped_ that something would.

The fact that Thaddeus Ross was screwing Tony over with his ominous absence added to the genius’ stress and disquiet. Stress and disquiet that, apparently, the Captain shared in truckloads as well, and that was driving him to constantly seek Tony out to keep himself busy. Apparently also, beating punching bags to submission wasn’t doing it for Steve anymore.

Although it was like rubbing salt to Tony’s wounds to have to spend even _more_ time with Steve, he couldn’t find it in his heart to push the blonde away. Steve sharing his Ross-related anxiety was doing wonders to keep them at bay so that Tony could do more fruitful endeavors like update the surveillance and security protocols of the facility, upgrade the defensive gear of everyone whose equipment needed upgrading, beef up the latest iteration to his armor, and discuss with Peter on the kid’s research that he insisted on entering for the September Fund grant even though Tony’s already asserted that Peter could be researching on the health benefits of slug slime for all Tony cared, and the kid would still have all the funding that he could ever want.

There were still the occasional times that Bucky dropped by the workshop to check what Tony was working on and to consult with him on the rare issues regarding the cybernetic arm and the reinforcement sessions that Tony, on the whole, was trying to cut back on attending, leaving the reciting duties in Natasha’s capable hands. Since Tony was already religiously attending meals, there was no more reason for Bucky to keep bringing him food to keep him from starving. But like with Steve, Tony couldn’t find it in his heart to snark at Bucky to quit checking up on him. There was no way Bucky could know how much it was squeezing Tony’s insides to have to endure seeing him and Steve together, seeing Steve often _and_ seeing Bucky on top of all that. Tony didn’t know how much more teeth-grinding he could take before his jaw cracked entirely.

But Tony _endured_. He endured feeling like the unluckiest bastard to ever walk the earth to have unwanted feelings for a patriotic soldier-superhero and to pine for a recovering brainwashed amnesiac who happened to be in love with each other.

To help him while he endured, Tony distracted himself by hanging out with the _other members_ of his family. Rhodey couldn’t be more thrilled that Tony seemed to be making up for the time that he’d spent avoiding the team at the start of the year. The ex-Air Force, along with Peter, stayed by Tony’s side at every available opportunity during team fellowship, but for the most part, everyone seemed delighted to have Tony in their company.

Of course, there _were_ still times when Tony was alone that everything he was trying to forget, run away from, or ignore, caught up to him. He’d thought of seeking solace at the bottom of the bottle, once or twice, but he wrestled with the urge. He’d already tried that at the start of their little/not-little family strife, and it worked about as well as a house on fire; Rhodey was always on his case and the aftereffects didn’t feel all that marvelous since he couldn’t very well stay drunk as a skunk all the damn time if he wanted to be on his feet long enough to champion changes in the Sokovia Accords just to prove a point to his wayward teammates and most especially to Steve. Besides, he didn’t want the recourse to the bottle to be another thing that made him no different from his father—his father who was quick to run into the embrace of a good-aged scotch the moment things were not to his liking or out of his control. As Tony often maintained how he was nothing like his father, he wasn’t about to heed the siren call of the bottle at the first hint of pain or sorrow.

But Tony must admit that he suddenly hankered for a _bucket_ of ice-cold scotch the very moment that Steve brushed aside the sackcloth cover at the back of the truck that the Captain had borrowed from Rhodey to reveal the Iron Man-colored kite underneath.

Steve had gone to the workshop with an excited smile and a persistent invitation on his lips for Tony to take a well-deserved break because Steve had wanted to show him something. At first, Tony had been skeptical; he had started scouring the globe with a fine-toothed comb to try to find out which among the countries yet to ratify their signature to the amendments could Ross be after in his terror plot. He was just about to start on South Africa, as it was Wakanda’s staunchest ally in the African continent, counting it as one of the strongest supporters of the amendments. In point of fact, Tony has just accepted a speaking engagement in about three weeks’ time to commemorate the one-year anniversary of the official signing of the amendments to the Sokovia Accords at South Africa’s behest. The genius was only too eager to accept the chance to address the United Nations as the top advocate of the amendments since he had missed the convention that officially put it to a vote last year, having been out of commission to frolic in another dimension during that time.

Steve, however, had insisted that he thought Tony needed a break from work and he, himself, needed one, too. He’d said that there was something he’d always wanted to try with Tony. When Tony had remained unconvinced, Steve had petulantly brought up the matter of the dinner that Tony supposedly owed him. Grumbling, Tony had hauled ass to see exactly what Steve was on about.

As it turned out, Steve had dragged him outside of the facility to go _kite-flying_ in _Central Park_.

“So…you up for it?”

If Tony weren’t madly thirsting for a barrel of alcohol right now—to drink or to drown himself in or whatever, he’d probably be cackling his ass off at how the fates had it in for him. He must have done a doozy in his past life or something for him to deserve this much perfectly-timed series of misfortunes that would render any lesser man to noisy, copious tears. Because, really, _kite-flying_ —

“Did _Bucky_ put you up to this? Did he _tell you_ to take me kite-flying?” Tony practically accused Steve, effectively wiping the tentative smile off the Captain’s face to be replaced by puzzlement. Tony was mildly trembling, whether it was in pent-up rage, shock or sorrow, he didn’t know anymore. Why would Steve even think about _kite-flying_ , of all the many, many things they could do that they’ve never done together, unless Bucky, who’d walked in on him at the BARF hall that night that he revisited his memories of his husband, had specifically _told_ Steve to do this?

 _To what end_ , Tony didn’t have the foggiest, though.

“Wha— _Bucky_? Why would Bucky tell me to take you kite-flying?”

“The fuck do I know?! I don’t know…maybe because he knows that I—“ _‘I used to do this with my Steve. That when we went kite-flying was when I realized that I loved Steve.’_ But Tony froze in the middle of his angry tirade before he could get all the words out. “I wanna leave. Now. I want to go back to the compound.” He strode towards the passenger side door of the truck with every intention of locking himself in until Steve relented to forget about this crazy shit and drive him back home.

But Steve ran after him and beat him to the car door before Tony could even open it. “Tony _please_ —I… I don’t know why you would think that Bucky had anything to do with me wanting to take you here and doing this with you. While he did suggest that we should get out of the compound and do something together that we’ve never done before for both of us to relax and unwind, this— _all this_ —going to Central Park, the picnic, the kite—it’s all me, Tony. Please… I’ve _always_ wanted to do this… I _want_ to do this now, like, so badly. And I want to do it with you.” Steve looked at him with pleading baby blues that one would have to be totally heartless and soulless to be able to ignore. “Please, Tony…”

God _damn_ —when had Tony become a complete sucker for big, beseeching, bright blue eyes?! Breathing a resigned exhale through the nose and chewing on the insides of his mouth, Tony rolled his eyes and stepped away from the car door. “And you couldn’t have done this with your boyfriend instead?”

Shrugging, Steve replied with a straight face, “Buck doesn’t think too highly of activities that mess up his hair.” To which Tony’s answer was a sarcasm-laced snort.

Still grumbling inwardly for his rotten luck, Tony helped Steve unload their supplies from the truck, lay out the picnic blanket on a nicely-shaded patch of grass, and place the wicker basket of their food on top of the blanket before going to the open field where the other kite fliers and Frisbee players were, armed with the Iron Man-colored kite and a spool of string.

The grass was crunchy with that morning’s mild frost beneath their feet. The skies were a steel gray-blue with wisps of clouds, promising colder days ahead. But for now, the weather was perfect—not too cold and not too hot, with a bit of wind and the start of the change in the color of the foliage. There were already some pale oranges, reds and yellows in the trees populating Central Park. As it was the turn of the season, a lot of people, like the two Avengers, have decided to take advantage of the present conditions to bask in perfect picnic weather by trooping to the park.

“I asked for Peter and Wanda’s help making the kite. Peter’s assured me that the materials and the proportions make it ‘superbly aerodynamic’, and I guess there’s no time like the present to test that out,” Steve relayed, clutching the red-and-gold kite in his hands both proudly and protectively. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done this last. And that last experience didn’t exactly end well.” Steve seemed momentarily uncertain, and then he looked at Tony with question in his eyes, asking, “what about you, Tony? Ever flown a kite before?”

Tony supposed that whether or not he’d actually flown a kite before would depend on the perspective. Sure, in _this dimension_ , he’d never tried to—Jarvis never got that far before Howard was shipping him off to boarding school at the tender age of seven and the only time he got to be a kid again was during the short months he was home from Europe, which was never enough. But just _last year_ , during Tony’s three-month stay in another world, he had successfully flown a kite. On a day both a bit different yet a little bit similar to this one…

Uncertain as to how to answer that didn’t require a long-winded explanation, Tony replied with a shrug, “how hard can it be?” He was a genius after all, so there weren’t that many things that would truly give him a challenge.

Steve gamely ran this way and that, holding the kite aloft for it to catch an updraft while Tony sprinted ahead, dragging the kite behind him and clutching the spool of string in his hands while flicking it like an orchestra conductor; his gestures grew bigger and bigger as the kite stubbornly stayed close to the ground.

There were almost-successes particularly when the kite caught a strong gust and actually soared ten feet off the ground for about five meters before nosediving back to the grass. Tony would get particularly excited whenever the kite started to soar out of Steve’s hands, but he got equally frustrated when the kite couldn’t keep to the air for long. Soon enough, Tony began to analyze the problem scientifically rather than let the frustration get the better of him. He was supposed to be a fucking genius; flying a damn kite shouldn’t be a problem! While Tony began to look at it scientifically, Steve just kept to Tony’s heels, throwing the kite in the air and picking it up whenever it plummeted, only to try again. And again. And again.

“Come on, Tony, let’s keep trying. That was the highest it got yet; maybe we’ll get it airborne next time,” Steve urged. “You can do it; come on…” Steve smiled encouragingly, picking up the fallen kite from the ground for the nth time. Tony didn’t have the heart to get annoyed because Steve seemed entirely too self-satisfied and enthusiastic still despite their kite being a huge dud. The exertion was nowhere near challenging enough to best the Super Soldier Serum but Steve’s cheeks were still flushed due to the combination of physical effort and the perfect fall weather.

Tony wanted so badly to get that damn kite in the air so he and Steve could get some respite from running around like idiots. But more than anything, Tony wanted to get the kite airborne just to keep seeing Steve smile.

Bracing himself for a more powerful hoist of the spool and a longer run to get the necessary lift, Tony practically snarled under his breath. When there was a considerable change in the drag of the spool in his hands, that was the only time that Tony chanced a look behind him to see Steve happily pumping his fists in the air and unreservedly hooting and cackling.

They had done it! The kite was airborne and was staying airborne. Tony was treated to the sight of Steve laughing maniacally and clapping in delight, his eyes shining even from a distance. “Go Tony! You did it!” Steve hollered, pointing at Tony in acknowledgment. Tony countered with an acknowledging gesture of his own.

As he stared at Steve’s brilliant smile from afar, Tony braced himself for an onslaught of sadness and longing for the husband he had chosen to leave behind and was frankly surprised and puzzled when nothing came. He was too intent on Steve’s excited smile—a smile reserved for Tony and only for Tony—to make room for anything else.

Everything seemed to crawl to a stop until nothing else existed at that one moment but the thundering beats of Tony’s heart and Steve’s elated smile. He could feel the smile on his own face freeze, his lips dry and a shaky breath escape from his lips. Had Tony not craved that smile since he woke up from his coma? Had Tony not moved mountains and done the impossible to elicit that smile? That smile that he had wished and wished could be directed at him— _because_ of him. So, this was what it felt like…

Tony was so mesmerized, flying the kite on autopilot, that he didn’t notice Steve running towards him until the blonde was right in front of him and gripping his hands that held the spool. “That was amazing, Tony,” Steve praised, absent-mindedly brushing away the errant strands of dark brown hair from Tony’s eyes. It was a gesture that probably didn’t mean anything to the Captain, but it jolted Tony out of his momentary reverie as if Steve’s fingertips sparked with electricity.

“Hey… are you OK?” Steve asked as a follow-up, noticing Tony’s peculiar reaction.

“Y—yeah, yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” Tony nearly stammered, but he recovered himself fairly quickly. “Hey, uh, there are too many people playing fetch and Frisbee over here. I’ll just take the kite-flying over there,” he remarked, motioning towards the hilly open fields farther off with a nod of his head. He didn’t know why, but he needed to get away from Steve. At least until he’s sorted out the rolling and roiling of his insides only because the blonde had deigned to _smile_ at him—God, he was fucking pathetic…

Steve gave him a close-mouthed smile and a nod. “I’ll just get some water for us, I’ll be right behind you,” he assured, but Tony was already scrambling away before he could get the last syllable out.

Tony watched the kite glide lazily in the air as he muttered invectives, which were mostly directed at himself, under his breath. He repeatedly shook his head to clear the fog of inattention in his mind. He tried to convince himself that this was nothing more than residual longing for another person from another time and place. Steve and Bucky were together now. Sure, they weren’t _together_ together—not yet, but there was nowhere else for them to go. Tony’s feelings for Steve weren’t real; they were only latent emotions brought about by memories of things that didn’t really happen.

Tony must have still looked preoccupied because Steve pretty much left him to his own devices when it came to flying the kite after offering him a bottle of ice-cold water. Steve stood beside him, unspeaking, looking up at their soaring kite every once in a while and at Tony from out of the corner of his eye.

When late morning progressed to noon, Steve, probably getting hungry himself, casually asked Tony if he wanted some food. Tony merely shrugged his assent, not really trusting himself to speak yet. He guided the flying kite back to where they’d laid the picnic blanket out. They helped each other land the kite as carefully as they could manage before Steve stowed it away at the back of their truck.

“So, I have grilled cheese and chicken salad, some crackers, cold cuts and fruit,” Steve enumerated for Tony’s benefit. “We have lemonade and bottled water, too, if you’re thirsty,” he offered.

Tony picked chicken salad, fruit and lemonade and left the rest to his companion, who needed more food for his enhanced metabolism anyway. And after that much running trying to get the kite airborne, Tony could only imagine how famished Steve must be.

They ate in relative silence with Steve watching the rest of the kite fliers while Tony observed the various dog breeds and their owners playing fetch. Tony didn’t really know what he was supposed to speak about with Steve. They were there, after all, to relax, so work and their worries were out of the question. But Tony needed to speak to Steve about _something_ or he would go nuts. He badly needed to get his attention off what raced through his mind while he and Steve were trying to get the kite up in the air. “So…care to tell me what’s next on your agenda for the day, Cap?”

“I thought we could rent some bicycles and bike around the park,” suggested the Captain, to which Tony only shrugged another assent. He figured that he was just going to have to grit his teeth and bear the rest of the day with the usual brand of quiet resignation. Today, it was just the two of them as Tony had allowed himself to fantasize about, too many times than he was prepared to admit. It wouldn’t kill him to try to enjoy himself, shelving his disquiet for the time being.

After polishing off their food and depositing the basket and blanket in the truck, Tony and Steve made their way to the bike rental kiosk, talking about inconsequential things, and rented out two bicycles. They received maps of the park showing the bike trails, and then, they were off. They rode at a relatively sedate pace, enjoying the view of majestic trees at the cusp of changing into their autumn garb on both sides of the bike trail. Steve kept to a few paces behind Tony even though it would have been fairly easy for him to overtake his non-Enhanced teammate.

“So, who taught you to ride a bike?” Steve suddenly piped up, breaking into Tony’s nature-related introspection.

“It was our butler, Jarvis, who taught me. He’d taken it upon himself to be a father to me that Howard never was,” answered Tony without the usual bile toward his father whom Steve had known as a completely different person during the war. “What about you—who taught you to ride a bike?” Tony quickly threw the question back to put the spotlight away from his strained relationship with Howard Stark.

“Bucky,” came the short reply that though short conveyed not a small amount of fondness and deference to his best friend-turned-lover. “He and I would go behind my Ma’s back, and I remember we used to borrow shabby bikes from our neighbors and stuff ourselves in alleys where he would teach me until we were both sweaty and dirty and I have scrapes and cuts on my elbows and knees that I would stammer to my Ma trying to explain where I got them from,” reminisced Steve, maneuvering the handlebars to keep him balanced even at their slow pace. “Did you get hurt a lot learning how to ride? How long did it take you to learn?”

Tony stole a glance at Steve, a tight smile on his lips, startled at but uncharacteristically made shy by the latter’s interest. “I don’t mean to be nosy,” Steve immediately said, noticing Tony’s reaction. “It’s just that I’m only now realizing how I seem to know so little about you.”

“That’s weird ‘cause of all of the Avengers, it’d be _me_ whose life is exhaustively featured in Google,” Tony said, a tad amused and teasing.

“I don’t mean the _you_ that’s found in the press releases or the gossip rags,” clarified Steve, looking down at the handlebars. “I mean _you_. The kid that Jarvis taught how to ride a bike.”

Tightness erupted in Tony’s diaphragm. _Jesus_ —first the smile, now _this_ … If Tony wasn’t careful, he was going to have an utter meltdown, and Steve would be taking what remained of him home in a fucking matchbox. “I skinned both of my knees and I even fell down really hard once and split my chin open. My mom screamed herself hoarse for hours at Jarvis. But all the more reason that I wanted to learn and master how to ride a bike. I was racing with Jarvis around the grounds of the midtown mansion _three days_ after he’d started teaching me. And I still have the scar from that, which is why I have this to cover it up,” Tony narrated and, with one hand remaining on the handlebars, brushed the iconic van dyke framing his mouth.

“See,” Steve said a thoughtful half-smile on his lips. “I didn’t know that. But now I do.” Tony felt like preening with how Steve had said it—as if they now had something that only the two of them shared.

“There’s no reason to hold back on me, Cap,” Tony said, smugly motioning at how they were moving at a glacial pace. “Last one around the bend’s a monkey’s uncle,” challenged Tony with a wolfish grin, kicking his pedaling into overdrive, shooting ahead of the competition to try to get a head start on the super soldier. Steve’s surprised yelp and relaxed cackle rang in Tony’s ears above the sudden whoosh of the wind as he picked up speed.

Tony got to the bend before Steve did and reveled in his success with over-the-top fist pumps, self-satisfied whoops and booming laughter that startled even him. The genius suspected that Steve let him win, but he didn’t make much of an issue out of it. He just enjoyed the satisfied expression on the Captain’s face.

After another water break, the two superheroes stumbled upon a group of middle schoolers playing Red Rover in a clearing. They decided to sit on the grass to watch and call out bets on which link on which team would be targeted or which player would successfully break a link. Some matches were rather inspired that the two superheroes found themselves loudly cheering their chosen sides and heckling the competition. Tony was particularly gifted when it came to cheering his team and jeering the opposing side that reduced Steve to belly-clutching laughter. They became so invested that at some point, the middle schoolers invited them to play on the teams they’d each been cheering.

“You know who I’m targeting first, Tony!” Steve hollered, looking smug, as he linked hands right smack in the middle of his team.

“Like I’d really be stupid enough to come barreling towards you. Finding the weakest link in the chain is scientific, Cap, and I happen to be a freakin’ _genius_! Prepare to join my team when I get through!” Tony yelled back with a smirk.

After a short period, whispering amongst themselves for strategy, the match was on with Steve’s team calling out first, "Red Rover, Red Rover, will _Tony_ come over!"

“That’s how it is, huh?”

“Oh, that’s how it is,” Steve replied, leering. Each of the members of his team braced themselves, strengthening the links of their hands as Tony came barreling towards the competition, choosing the left-most link between a boy who seemed small for his age and an athletic-looking girl with braces in her teeth.

Using force far from what Iron Man was capable of that was reserved for intergalactic foes and earth-bound villains, it was easy enough for Tony to break through the link. It wasn’t everyday that he was head and shoulders above the opponents in his bare feet, after all, instead of going against Enhanced individuals, gods and armored bad-asses, so of course, he was going to milk that uncommon advantage for all it was worth. “Told you I’d break through,” Tony gloated with another smirk amidst the groans of dejection from Steve’s teammates. “I choose _him_ to take back to my team,” announced Tony, pointing at Steve. More groans of protest followed them as the pair made their way back to Tony’s team.

Tony was thrown completely off his Zen when Steve chose to stand beside him, offering his hand, palm up, for Tony to take. “This way we’ll be unbeatable,” Steve remarked with a slight quirk to the corners of his lips. “It’s always better to fight beside you than against you anyway.” And both of them knew it was more than just Red Rover, too.

Tony gamely took Steve’s hand despite the thundering of his heart, and the two of them stood in the middle of their new-and-improved team, ready to take on the competition together.

The rest of the game became a haze to Tony from that point on; he would still come when the other team called for him, and Steve would, too, and they were always successful at breaking the opposing team’s link. There were times when only he and Steve remained on their team, but Steve was right in his initial assessment in that they were unbeatable—no one could break through their linked hands. Even though the genius could feel his palm enclosed in Steve’s getting slick with sweat, the blonde kept a reassuring and consistent hold on Tony’s hand, weathering through the constant exchange of players between the teams.

It was unclear who actually won because their team was never reduced to one player—there was always him and Steve with their hands linked. The brunette doubted that their joined hands meant the same thing to Steve as it did to Tony, but the latter reveled in it, took comfort in it. Again, he expected for the touch to bring back memories but the memories never came; all that Tony was painfully aware of were the here and now. And the Steve that stood there beside him, clutching his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

When the middle schoolers called it a day amidst selfies with the two superheroes and awkward handshakes and shy proclamations of support to the Avengers despite the persistent news about unrest all over the world in connection to the amendments to the Sokovia Accords, the two said their goodbyes and took to meandering around the park again until they found themselves in a playground.

Cocking his head toward the vacant seesaw before them, Steve purposefully walked over to it, bouncing on the balls of his feet, with Tony close at his heels.

“You’re kidding me, right?” Tony asked, incredulous that Steve looked like he really meant to try the seesaw out. “If I ride that thing with you at the other end, I’m never coming down. You weigh like—what—a _quarter of a ton_?!”

“Ye of little faith,” chastised Steve, pulling at the handlebars of one end to get it to mounting level and throwing his legs over the seat to straddle it. “Go on. You know you want to,” Steve teased, dropping his usual reserved demeanor again. There was a lot of that over the course of the day, and Tony’s only noticed.

Grumbling, Tony parked his bum at the other end of the seesaw, and Steve, using his powerful leg muscles, got the contraption moving with Tony moving up first and then down. Up and down. Up and down. Tony found himself falling into rhythm and pulling his own weight in the ride—so to speak.

A kid no older than five passed them by with a disgruntled look on his face when he found the seesaw inconveniently occupied by two grown-ass men. “’Sup, short stack?” Tony impishly called the kid out that got him bolting back to his mommy on his little legs, probably to complain about sasquatches on the seesaw.

Steve was shaking his head in wry amusement. “Did you really have to scare the kid, Tony?”

“ _What_ —he was looking at us funny! Like we have no business riding this seesaw or something. Hey—I’m a _taxpayer_ and I know my rights. And I have a right to use the seesaw just like he does. Maybe _more so_ than he does ‘cause he’s obviously not old enough to pay taxes yet,” rambled Tony childishly, maintaining the up and down motion of the seesaw.

Steve actually tittered at him—the asshole.

Silence fell over the two of them as they alternated going up and down on the seesaw, Tony wrestled his attention away from Steve to marvel at the afternoon sun peeking through the gaps in the greenery, highlighting the oranges, yellows and golds of the trees. He watched the kids being kids in the crowd. This was what he had missed out on, growing up. And he’d needed a day like this more than he was ready to admit. He turned his eyes back to his companion again to see that he, too, was as relaxed as Tony had never seen him these past couple of weeks. Tony was practically blinded by Steve’s radiance.

He’d wanted to be with Steve like this more than he was prepared to deal with.

He was supposed to step back and leave Steve and Bucky be; he wasn’t supposed to feel like his world had suddenly stopped spinning just because Steve smiled at him, or wanted to know more about him or touched him or spent time with him! He was supposed to deep-six his Steve-memories from the other dimension before it irrevocably affected his relationship with the one in this dimension because _those weren’t real_ ; he wasn’t supposed to fall in love with this-Steve!

He could swear left, right and center—he could swear until he ran out of breath swearing that his emotions were merely colored by his memories of another person in another universe. Or that he was just finding it difficult to dissociate this one person from the other because they shared a face. Or that those two people were vastly different from each other _despite_ sharing a face. Or that whatever he was feeling was all just in his imagination or was not real… But they wouldn’t be _true_ , would they?

Somewhere along the way, it had stopped being about the Steve he’d left behind, but all about the Steve he’d chosen to go back to.

“When I was young, there was a playground right across the street from the tenement where we lived. I could see it from our small bedroom window. It looked run down, the seesaws were…old and the swings always had broken chains, but the children that played in it were happy. I was always sick growing up, so even though it was a stone’s throw from where I was always stuck in bed, sick and hacking up a lung—I never got to go. Then one summer, they just demolished it to make room for a brownstone building… For years, that playground was just there until it wasn’t. And I never got to go,” Steve said, recalling his youth again with a bittersweet grin on his boyish face. “And I know that you know how that feels more than you let on, Tony. Our childhood… They’re memorable for all the wrong reasons. That’s why I wanted to spend today with you. Because I knew you would understand how there are some days that you just wish you could be a child again.”

Tony looked down at the seesaw’s handlebars, wistful. He didn’t know what to say to that apart from: “thank you… I needed this. More than I realized.”

“You’re welcome,” Steve countered, another radiant smile on his face. “Today’s been fun. I’m beating myself up why we couldn’t have done something like this sooner.”

A beat. “You know, we might not have had a picture-perfect childhood like these kids, but ours aren’t all bad—“

“—right, of course—I mean, growing up, you had Jarvis, right?” Steve said with a placating gesture.

“While _you_ had your mom…and Bucky,” Tony remarked, swallowing down the growing bitterness rising his bile to his throat.

“And they’re all we’d ever need,” Steve finished the thought. Only, instead of it being a source of happiness that, growing up, they might not have had the best childhood but they’d had enough in the form of the handful of people who’d made all the difference, the sentiment hit Tony in quite a different way. He knew what Steve meant, or at least, he hoped that was what Steve meant. But the way he’d said it—

Bucky was _everything_ for Steve. Bucky was all that Steve needed in his life.  

 _‘Then what are we doing here? What are you doing here with_ me _, Steve?’_ Shit, shit, _shit_ …

“It’s, uh, it’s getting late. And we still have a drive ahead of us. Maybe we should be going now,” broached Tony. He hated to bring a dark specter to their day, but he suddenly found it difficult to breathe and to even _look_ at Steve. He unceremoniously got off the seesaw to start the trek back to where the truck was parked.

Catching up to him, Steve suddenly took hold of Tony’s elbow. “Tony, Tony—wait… Is it something I said? Did I say something wrong?”

No, Steve didn’t say something wrong. Steve only said something _true_. And Tony couldn’t fucking handle the truth. Because Tony wanted, _desired_ —

“No,” assured Tony with a curt pat to Steve’s hand on his elbow and a smile that was taking all his willpower to pull and keep on his face. “I’m just suddenly bushed and we’re still facing a two-hour drive.” And Bucky would be wondering where they were, and Steve wouldn’t want Bucky to worry. “Time to go back to the real world, Cap.”

To the world where the two people that Tony loved with all his heart were together, needing nothing else but each other. While Tony was still alone.

-0-0-0-

“Anthony,” Stephen Strange said by way of greeting, only a hint of surprise lacing his voice at finding Tony standing at his bunker’s doorstep. “Come in,” Stephen readily invited, widening his door and stepping aside to let the genius cross the threshold into the sorcerer’s subterranean sanctum in the Avengers facility. The no-questions-asked offer startled even Tony himself, but he wasn’t about to question his otherwise reclusive teammate’s sudden magnanimity for company.

“I only took a chance that you would be here instead of at Bleecker,” said Tony, taking the follow-up wordless offer from Strange to take a seat. “I need to talk to someone who…knows about what happened to me during the three months that I was out. And seeing as that’s a very short list composed of people I really don’t want to have to discuss it with and _you_ … That makes you my only option.”

“OK… So, how about some tea, huh?” Stephen suggested after a beat, already making his way to the small counter, modeled after what Tony had in his own workshop, where a percolator and a basket of teabags were neatly stored. “Jasmine and chamomile all right?”

“Yeah that’s, uh, that’s fine,” absent-mindedly answered Tony, uncharacteristically beginning to wring his hands together where he sat. “You’re a lot like my friend Bruce with how much you love tea. But you don’t strike me as someone who has anger management issues to wade through.”

“You’d be surprised,” bantered Strange back. “I can get plenty angry and plenty mean. The tea helps.” Strange gingerly handed Tony a steaming cup with a teabag lazily swimming in it and coloring the hot water gold.

“I’ll say.”

“What do you want to talk to me about, Anthony?” Strange placed his own mug on the small table between where they’d chosen to sit.

“Remember that time after my birthday when I sought you out and you helped me answer some stuff?” Tony asked, preferring to go directly to the meat of his purpose for seeking Strange out but keeping the question sufficiently vague. “You remember you asked me at the end of the whole ordeal if I wanted my other set of memories erased, and I said no?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I change my mind,” Tony mumbled, stopping with the hand-wringing and clasping his fingers together on his lap instead. “Dissociating Steve from—from my husband is not as peachy keen an experience as I’d thought it would be, and seeing as I don’t want my rediscovered friendship with the Cap and the rest of the team to suffer for it, I think it would be best if you draw all of my memories from the other dimension out—“

“— _all_ of it?” Strange interrupted, astounded.

Tony hesitated for a heartbeat. He would lose all of the easy camaraderie he’d had with the other Bucky, too; he would lose the natural dynamic he had with the two super soldiers—when they used to hang out together in the workshop, discussing science, politics, traveling, contemporary history, Hollywood gossip, when it was natural for him to steal kisses from Steve but prop his feet on Bucky’s lap during movie nights, when they used to train together and tease each other and call each other sickeningly sweet pet names, when Bucky had been as close to him as Rhodey was and Steve… Tony would lose the time when he’d loved Steve and Steve had loved him back.

Tony would still remember the feeling of being in love, sure. Just… not— _never_ —the same way. He wouldn’t remember what it felt like to be loved as fiercely as his Steve had loved him. Maybe it would be enough to kill whatever it was he was feeling, both for Bucky and this-Steve. You can’t yearn for something you’ve never known, right?

“ _All of it_ ,” he chokingly said, quickly recovering his composure, though “Steve’s OK where he is, and— _hey_ —if I don’t know what I’m missing, I can’t miss it, right?

“Honestly, I’d take any old option I have at this point even if I’d end up drooling on the carpet without a single memory of the past _five years_ or something,” said Tony in jest, but there was a ring of emptiness to the humor.

Steepling his hands together so that his fingertips rested on his bottom lip, Strange stared at Tony with an expression in his deep-set blue eyes that was difficult to read. After a period of pregnant silence, Strange remarked, “I must say, Anthony, this isn’t exactly what I was expecting you’d ask from me.”

“Why—what were you expecting?” Tony asked, curious. Making small talk meant he had something to do with his mouth instead of chewing his bottom lip anxiously.

“For me to take you back there,” replied Strange in a no-nonsense manner.

“I can’t do that,” defensively answered the genius-billionaire with a vehement shake of his head.

“Why not?” Strange leaned on the back rest, crossing his legs regally and propping his elbows on his seat’s armrests. “It can’t be because you don’t want to go back and you’d rather stay here, can it?” Strange definitely had Tony’s number, all right.

“No,” Tony confirmed. “But that Steve from the other universe already has _his_ Tony back. And they have Rebecca. They’re complete; they’re perfect. I’m not going to be happy at the expense of someone else’s happiness, even if that someone else is another _me_ from another universe,” explained Tony as if the reasoning was so obvious that he didn’t know what he was doing still explaining it to Strange.

“That’s more mature thinking than anyone gives you credit for,” Strange commented, slightly awed. What—like Tony Stark wasn’t capable of maturity every now and again?!

“I’ll…take that as a compliment, Strange.” Well, what the hell! It wasn’t as if he was the type to be easily offended.

“You should,” Strange countered with a tight but sincere smile. “It’s more than what most people are capable of…. Even me,” Strange continued. “Somehow, selfishness has a direct correlation to the pursuit of happiness.”

Tony distractedly hummed his assent before plowing on, “so does that mean that the offer to erase my memories still stands? Will you help me?”

Breathing a deep breath as if to prepare for a long-winded lecture, Strange said, “I think your reason for wanting your memories erased is horribly misguided.”

“I’m sorry, _what_?”

“It’s _bullshit_ , Anthony,” rephrased Strange, somehow maintaining his otherworldly and mysterious demeanor. “I don’t believe your reasons for wanting to get rid of your memories from the other dimension are all that sound.

"You think your memories are to blame for your current pain. You’re having a hard time letting go and dealing with the present state of things because you’re hanging on to what your life had been like somewhere else. You think your memories are keeping you from being happy,” elucidated the sorcerer quite accurately to Tony’s utmost chagrin. That magic-wielding bastard…

“Your memories aren’t the key to your happiness but what you do _with_ them or _despite_ them that is,” declared Strange in a—well—strangely _Hallmark_ -y way.

“Ten thousand points to Gryffindor, Headmaster Dumbledore,” muttered Tony, begrudgingly admitting to himself that the sorcerer made perfect sense in his unfortunately lucid opinion. He hated it when others made more sense than he did. He was supposed to be the genius in this establishment!

Tony supposed his genius was for shit when his heart was hurting because, contrary to popular opinion, he didn’t have a mechanical heart. It yearned for happiness and belongingness, too.

“You may be hurting now, Anthony,” Strange said, leaning forward to reach and wrap long, battle-hardened but still graceful fingers around Tony’s forearm. “Because you think you’re in a hopeless, no-win situation with the two people you’ve come to love. But if you give up on them this way, only then will you have truly lost.”

The cup of tea in Tony’s hands might have shook a little when Tony gave a start at that. He didn’t know how Strange could have guessed about _Bucky_ though Tony’d made no mention of it. He wasn’t that obvious, was he? Quickly recovering from the momentary surprise, Tony did not give any further indication that Strange had disconcerted him with the dead-accuracy of the statement.

He had to hand it to his magic-wielding teammate, though. He was _good_ with the whole psychic, voodoo shtick. Maybe he should be asking _Strange_ about Ross… Now _that_ was an idea…

But Strange was speaking again. “If you want to understand why I’m refusing to help you, ask your AI to show you footage of your room while you were in a coma. Look at the footage and it will surely clear a few things up,” advised the former neurosurgeon, patting Tony’s forearm twice before turning his hand towards his own cup of tea. “Now, drink your tea before it gets cold. Tea is always good for the soul, you know.”


	35. 35. BUCKY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky suspects that something is up between Steve and Tony but doesn't feel the least bit jealous about it, which surprises even him. A stay-at-home date between Steve and Bucky doesn't quite go the way it's supposed to, and Bucky confronts Steve about what he feels for Tony, once and for all. Will Steve admit anything?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I was going to update every weekend, and so I shall... I'm cutting it close though, but better late by a couple hours than late by a couple of days/weeks, right? O_O
> 
> We are down to the last five chapters of this monster, and we are getting close to seeing the end to everyone's hardships--the characters' and yours (as readers) and mine!!! Yay!!! Are you excited to see how everyone gets what they deserve? Are you seeing a happy ending or just a satisfying closure? I have never written a not-happy ending before, you know. But I am seriously considering that the time is ripe for one. (Then again, I have to contend with my own heartbreak, so decisions...decisions...) I mean, we've 5 chapters left and Tony and Steve are still such stubborn sons-o-bitches!!!! They are trying my patience... X-S
> 
> You know the material buttons to push, everyone! Need your keen eyes for SPaG issues and plot inconsistencies I might have missed. So, don't hesitate to give me a poke. A'ight? OH AND A HUGE, HUGE Thank you goes to the commenters of the last chapter--both new ones and the regulars--you guys are AWESOMELY FANTASTIC!!!! ^___^ I <3 U ALL!!!!
> 
> Have a great week, my lovelies! And ENJOY this chapter! ^_^  
> \---

The moment that Bucky first noticed how Steve kept looking at Tony, he burned not with jealousy but with _curiosity_ , and therein lay a red flag that there was something weird about this whole thing between Steve, Tony and Bucky.  Bucky knew he ought to be worried, jealous and suspicious that there might be something between Tony and Steve. But instead of the normal reaction that one ought to have when the person they were dating was obviously checking someone else out, Bucky found it rather _interesting_.

Steve looked at Tony surreptitiously and with such intensity; it was nothing like how Steve would look at the others no matter what vital thing it was they happened to be talking about. The intense study also came with an expression that Bucky found quite hard to read—like a combination of fondness, suspicion, longing and bone-deep admiration. When the moment passed, Bucky was prepared to let it go as a one-off. Maybe Steve was just awed and thankful at having Tony back as a friend. Goodness knew the punk was the type to wear his heart on his sleeve so the Captain could be sappy at the worst of times.

But when it happened again, and again, and _again_ , Bucky developed a feeling that there was more to it than just thankfulness on Steve’s part. As the instances multiplied, too, Bucky began to find the look familiar: the way Steve looked at Tony was the way Tony used to look at Steve during the time when Bucky had been privy to how hard the genius found it to detach the other-Steve from this-Steve.

On top of Steve’s new habit, Bucky’s also began to notice that the blonde was easily distracted. The latter tried to tamp down on it whenever they were together, and Bucky suspected it was because Steve didn’t want him to worry because he was still in the middle of a trying rehabilitation. It wasn’t that Steve was bad company because of his distraction, but Bucky didn’t want Steve to always prioritize his recovery or his mental or psychological state. If they were trying this dating thing, Bucky fully believed Steve should learn to share with his lover not only his happiness but also his anxieties.

Afraid that he was reading things wrong or he was merely imagining things, Bucky then decided that it was time to see if any of the others might have noticed Steve’s peculiar habit and distraction of late. One time, when Scott brought him another three goldfish to put in the aquarium that Tony had seen fit to install in Bucky’s bedroom for a more permanent habitat for Finn, the goldfish Tony’d given him from the carnival, Bucky ventured to ask the other man if he’d perhaps noticed anything on the Steve-Tony front.

“I don’t want to be the loose-lipped gossip-monger to throw a wrench in your budding relationship, Buck, or Natasha will _end me_ ,” Scott disclaimed with tremendous apprehension, preferring to regard the fish in the tank that were now numbering six in total—there was Finn, of course, and the two from Peter who’d informed Bucky that goldfish needed some social interaction, too; and now, there were the newest three from Scott’s daughter, Cassie. “Besides, you know, if Steve was cheating on you, I doubt he would do it so… _blatantly_ while living in a house populated by overprotective family members, mind readers, sorcerers, spies and people who can stick to ceilings and phase through walls.”

“Oh, Steve’s not cheating on me,” Bucky clarified confidently, sprinkling fish feed in the tank for his beautiful babies with a fond smile on his face. “That’s just not the kind of person he is.”

“Then why do you want to know if I’ve noticed anything between Steve and Tony?” Scott asked, turning his back towards the tank but facing sideways to stare at Bucky still.

“Because _I_ noticed something and I don’t know if it’s just me who’s been seeing it,” informed Bucky, shrugging. “And since you were the one observant enough to notice how Steve was like when Tony was in that coma, then maybe you might have noticed something similar.”

“Well… whenever he’s not with us doing some team thing, or with you, or at SHIELD, Steve likes to spend time with Tony in the workshop,” Scott said in as neutral a tone as he could muster. “At least that’s where FRIDAY always says he is whenever I look for him to ask something or those handful of times I had something to report from Command Center… That’s all I know though,” remarked the other brunette.

“Huh.” OK— _that_ Bucky didn’t know about. But it definitely corroborated rather than denied Bucky’s own observations of Steve’s recent behavior.

“I’m sure that’s nothing, though,” Scott tried to reassure. “Cap’s probably just pretty ecstatic to have been able to fix things with Tony,” the second engineer in the team rationalized. He walked towards the nearest table and boosted himself up to sit on it with his feet dangling over the edge.

“Then you don’t think that Steve’s still _in love_ with Tony or something?” Bucky asked, dusting his hands off his jeans and screwing the canister of fish feed shut.

“Well—Cap’s dating _you_ now, so obviously, I had it wrong,” Scott answered with a shrug of his shoulders. “In the first place, if he had been in love with Stark, why would he have chosen to try this dating thing with you?” Scott asked hypothetically with a _wait-hang on_ gesture.

Easy. Steve chose the way he did because he hasn’t realized that he might be in love with Tony, too.

Or he’s wrestling with himself trying to resist it.

“Maybe it _is_ nothing. Maybe _I am_ just imagining things,” Bucky admitted to reassure Scott, but his real suspicions were more alive than ever inside.

Bucky decided that the time was ripe to call Steve out on it.

“You noticed that?!” Steve actually looked aghast, seeming to have choked a bit on the toothpaste froth in his mouth.

Bucky told him off for being a secretive little shit and urged him that his woes might be better handled if they could share it rather than for Steve to let it fester.

When Steve deigned to tell him exactly why he had been watching Tony so closely though, Bucky started to share his best friend’s anxiety. And not in a good way. “I’m worried that the truth is: he’s still very much affected by those memories and he’s going to end up doing something stupid,” Steve remarked.

“Stupid? Like, how stupid?”

“You know—like, ‘go talk to Stephen and arrange to go back to that dimension’ level of stupid. I don’t like it that I don’t know what’s running through his mind. And I’m scared that he’s being uncharacteristically sociable and affectionate because he’s lulling us into a false sense of security and he’s stocking up on good memories with us while he can until he leaves me because he has every intention of going back to that other dimension, to this—this person— _his husband_ , and this other place where he’d been happy like he’d _never_ been with me— _us_ , here.” Bucky had never seen Steve this agitated before. So agitated that he didn’t think the blonde noticed his own little slip of the tongue.

“You think he’s going to leave you?” The slip of the tongue which Bucky quite literally latched on to.

“What?” Steve asked, a bit panicked. “I meant us— _all of us_ ,” Steve tried to clarify before he was rambling because of pent-up anxiety again. If Bucky had any doubts about how strongly Steve really felt for Tony before, there was no room for doubt anymore.

“I’ve only just gotten him back, and I’m scared that I’m gonna lose him.” Bucky noted the absolutely lost and pained expression on Steve’s face, but instead of feeling betrayed that apart from him, Steve had dared to let another person in his heart, Bucky put himself in Steve’s shoes and his heart positively ached for his best friend-turned-lover.

Bucky reached out and clasped Steve’s hand with his own, placing their joined hands on his lap. To Steve, it probably didn’t mean anything more than Bucky wanting to calm Steve down and sympathizing with him. But _to Bucky_ , this was him sharing Steve’s pain. This was him conveying to Steve that he could understand, that like Steve, Bucky wanted to do something. Because like Steve, Bucky cared for Tony, too.

“What do we do, Buck?” This was something new for Bucky because even in the middle of a _war,_ Steve had always been so decisive, tactically cocksure and in-control. But here was a Steve that was looking to him for guidance. And it might be because Steve knew how much Tony meant to Bucky, too, or this may be Steve’s way of acknowledging what Bucky’s role was in his life now. But whatever Steve’s reasons were for looking to him now, he wanted to be able to make a difference considering the things at stake: Steve’s heart in one piece and Tony’s continued presence in this dimension.

This was no longer about any last-ditch effort to push Tony and Steve together. Tony had asked Bucky to stop, and he was going to respect the genius’ decision. But if Steve was right in that Tony was weighing whether or not to stay or go back to the other dimension where his husband was, then Bucky was not beneath trying to give Tony as many reasons as he could to stay.

Bucky gave Steve advice, hoping that things would be different after: that Steve would quit staring at Tony as if the latter was going to disappear into thin air; that Tony wouldn’t make Steve so paranoid about scarpering off to another dimension; that Bucky would start acting all jealous-like as any normal person should if the one they were dating kept giving another person intense gazes.

Things were different after that, all right; things were _worse_.

Apparently, Steve was convinced he’d said something weird to Tony and cocked up their bonding, so he still stared at Tony, but more _openly_ than he used to. Also, Bucky has come to share Steve’s paranoia about the genius, wanting badly to get a read on whether he was genuinely happy in their company or if it was all just an act, that now, like Steve, he would stare openly at Tony, too, so much so that Natasha had caught _both_ of them at it on several occasions. On top of that, he still wasn’t acting like a jealous boyfriend should. In fact, he largely encouraged Steve to hang out with Tony whenever he, himself, couldn’t—like whenever the two were at SHIELD.

At least, his and Steve’s relationship was yet to suffer. They still hung out whenever they could; they could still be sufficiently intimate and passionate with each other—nothing drastic or awkward, but they were getting to know each other’s bodies—the kisses and touches that each preferred, each other’s kinks, no matter how unexpected—fairly well, in a pace that both of them were comfortable with.

And Bucky supposed it was also a check mark in the box that his own friendship with Tony was still intact despite his and Steve’s peculiar behaviors of late. On the whole, Bucky thought that Tony seemed oblivious to how strangely the two super soldiers were acting.

As far as Bucky could tell, Tony wasn’t harboring any kind of ill feelings toward Steve for whatever it was that had gone down during their bonding a little over a week ago. He still worked too hard and holed himself up too long in his workshop, in Bucky’s opinion, but then he wouldn’t be Tony if he weren’t so passionate about his tech, would he? The important thing was Tony still joined the team for meals and recreation nights. Tony still joked with them and talked with them often enough that Bucky was, for the time being, reassured that the genius-billionaire wasn’t planning on giving them the slip within the next few days for a more permanent stint in another dimension.

“The birthday girl’s here,” Bucky announced as the pneumatic doors to Tony’s workshop opened to admit him. “Time to go upstairs or you’ll miss when she blows out the candles to her birthday cake,” Bucky said, watching as Tony looked away from his hologram of the Stark Industries satellite system to award the newcomer with a lop-sided grin.

It was Lila Barton’s seventh birthday today, and she was celebrating her special day in the Avengers facility as per her specific request to her parents. Everyone had pitched in to prepare. They had invited the few kids that they knew to the party: Harley Keener and his younger sister, Cassie Lang, Rhodey’s nephews, Sam’s niece. The food, enough to feed a small country, was laid out in a simple but elegant buffet. The grounds were decked out in Lila’s chosen theme which was Disney Princesses. And to indulge the young lady’s party preferences, they had all agreed that all of them would be dressed in their chosen Disney characters.

“You could’ve just asked FRIDAY to give me the heads up, you know. You didn’t have to come down here yourself,” Tony commented, and noticing how Bucky was dressed, continued, “which one are you supposed to be?”

“What—the King of Pop Culture References cannot guess who I’m supposed to be?” Bucky ribbed with a snort, looking down at his outfit and turning 360-degrees to model his full get-up to the genius.

“I can’t decide if you’re more Flynn Rider or Prince Eric…” Tony trailed off, cocking his head at an angle to study Bucky’s attire. The scrutiny made Bucky’s cheeks heat up. “So, which is it?”

“Flynn Rider,” answered Bucky, looking at the ground to cover for his sudden shyness. “What about you? I might not be as well-versed in the world of Disney but I don’t think they have a black tank top-wearing prince,” commented Bucky, giving Tony a critical once-over.

“This isn’t my costume,” pointed Tony out, waving a hand to minimize all hologram images and clear the immediate space of holo-screens of his previous work. “If you’re Flynn Rider, does that make Steve _Rapunzel_?” Tony asked with a clarificatory gesture and a titter.

“Steve is going as John Smith from Pocahontas,” Bucky replied, leaning a hip against the edge of a table cluttered with various knickknacks. “We really shouldn’t keep the birthday girl waiting, Tony.” Bucky reminded, tilting his head towards the exit to urge the genius to get a move on.

“FRIDAY could’ve told me that,” Tony emphasized again that Bucky didn’t have any real reason to personally fetch him from the workshop. “You’re lucky your boyfriend doesn’t get the wrong idea whenever you slip down here to come get me when you could just as easily send a message through FRIDAY,” remarked the other brunette with an imperial raise of an eyebrow.

“What—I can’t like you anymore because I’m with Steve now?” Bucky bantered back, tamping down on the impulse to blush in front of Tony again. To appear as noncommittal as possible, Bucky started fingering the knickknacks on the table he was leaning against. “Besides, you bully FRIDAY. It’s very easy for you to ignore her or put her on mute. Going here myself ensures that you can be physically hauled outta here to join the outside world.”

Shrugging, Tony gestured towards DUM-E to get some vacuuming done. “I’m just saying Cap is most likely the jealous type,” Tony reasoned, pointing to where DUM-E should concentrate on his vacuuming. “I just don’t want him drawing his own conclusions about what you get up to down here with me.” Tony walked towards his workshop’s en suite to wash the morning’s detritus off his body and presumably to put on his costume for the party.

“You think Steve will think that I’m cheating on him with you?” Bucky hollered from the other side of the closed bathroom door with a bemused guffaw, thankful that Tony wasn’t around to see his face that was undeniably still aflame. “With the inordinate amount of time that Steve spends here with you, too, shouldn’t _I_ be thinking that it’s _Steve_ who’s cheating on _me_ with you?”

“You and me both know that Steve’s too much of a stick-in-the-mud to think about cheating,” Tony yelled back from the inside of the bathroom, above the din of the shower.

“Maybe if it were with someone more _attractive_ —“ Bucky called from right outside the bathroom door.

“—hey! Are you saying I’m not attractive enough to cheat with?!” Tony joked, momentarily opening the bathroom door a crack and poking his head through. He gave Bucky a childish stink-eye before continuing, “I’ll have you know that I once had a _married woman_ proposition me and a _married couple_ offer to have a threesome with me. I am 100% cheat-material.” He slammed the door shut again to continue with his quick shower.

“Oh—you’ve got me convinced,” Bucky abashedly mumbled in front of the closed door. Tony definitely was not unattractive and it wasn’t hard to believe at all that he’d gotten propositioned by those people.

To kill his discomfort at the direction his brain was going with this, Bucky let his eyes wander around Tony’s workspace until his eyes fell on a big blue bear sitting all-importantly and regally on the couch.

It was _Bucky Bear_. And the sight of the stuffed bear he had won for Tony at the carnival, sitting right there in full view of anyone sent a secret thrill up his spine. He suddenly wondered if _Steve_ had seen it and if the latter had ever wondered who’d given the bear to Tony.

Then again, the Iron Man stand-in origami that Steve had designed for Tony’s birthday was just as prominently displayed beside the couch. And Bucky pondered then if perhaps Steve had felt the same thrill up his spine to see something he’d made so specially exhibited in the genius-billionaire’s personal space.

“Wait, don’t tell me you _are_ thinking of cheating on _Captain America_ with me?” Tony suddenly poked his head through the gap in the door again, this time his hair was wet and on his face was a mockingly scandalized grin.

Recovering his bearings, Bucky suggested with an over-the-top lip bite, “it’ll be _our_ little secret.” To which Tony’s immediate response was a loud snort before slamming the bathroom door on Bucky again.

After a couple of minutes, Tony stepped out of the workshop’s bathroom bathed, barefoot and bare-chested, dressed in a tiny purple vest, white floor-length harem pants with a dropped crotch and a yellow patch near the right knee, brown cummerbund tied like a belt around the waist of his pants and a red fez hat with a yellow tassel. “I’m not gonna be your dirty little secret, Barnes,” Tony replied in a tone that was meant to be a joke but somehow there seemed to be a ring of seriousness to it.

Fixing the hat atop his head, Tony elicited Bucky’s opinion to change the mood that had suddenly fallen over the two of them. “Do I look like a convincing street rat, _Flynn_?”

Tony actually looked adorable but the ex-Sergeant doubted if the genius-billionaire was going to appreciate being called that. Also, he’d lost his right to think that Tony was adorable because he was supposed to be dating _Steve_ now; he was supposed to have eyes only for Steve. “You look positively pitiful. Well come on, _Aladdin_ —let’s get this party started,” was, Bucky believed, safe enough to say.

The party was already in full swing by the time that Bucky and Tony finally made it to the grounds. Thankfully, Lila was yet to blow out her cake, so they didn’t miss that, at least. Tony was quick to sidle up to Rhodey, Peter, Wanda and Vision who were dressed as Prince Naveen, Jack Sparrow, Ariel and the Genie, respectively.

Bucky didn’t try to spirit Tony away from his little clique after that, feeling accomplished enough to have been able to haul Tony out from the confines of his workshop. He figured if he hadn’t gotten to Tony first then Steve would’ve been the one to come get Tony. He and Steve were predictable like that…

Bucky was alternating between staring at Tony, and staring at Steve stare at Tony from out of the corner of his eye while getting his ears talked off by Sam, who was dressed as Tarzan in a loincloth, when Scott, dressed as the Princely Beast, walked up to him to get some juice from the punch bowl by Bucky’s elbow. “Don’t tell me that you’re still convinced that there’s something going on between Steve and Tony?” Scott asked, dividing his attention between ladling juice to a couple of paper cups and looking at Bucky who was still alternately watching Steve and Tony like a brooding tennis spectator.

Oh, Bucky would bet all his worldly possessions on it, all right. It was just probably not quite what Scott had in mind, though.

“I confronted Steve about it,” disclosed Bucky, taking a deep swig of juice from his own cup while his eyes remained glued to Tony’s laughing figure. “He’d told me about some…concerns. Only I don’t think he’s told me the whole truth.” That is, if Steve was even _aware_ of the damn truth.

“What are you going to do?”

There was definitely something _disturbing_ in this here whole set-up: Steve was too fixated on Tony for it to be purely friendly; and Bucky was too blasé for someone whose lover seemed pretty far gone on someone else. Plus, there was still the issue of him being pretty far gone on Tony still—

If Steve couldn’t—or _refused to_ —come to terms with what he could be feeling for Tony himself, Bucky sure as hell wouldn’t be caught dead twiddling his thumbs, waiting for something to give. If Bucky was getting his heart broken by yet another excruciating development to his sordid love story with Steve and Tony, he would like it to be on his own terms, told squarely to his face, so that he would have a fighting chance to figure out how to either salvage things or pick up the pieces.

“Deal with it,” Bucky answered simply.

Much later on, wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist from behind, Bucky propped his chin on Steve’s shoulder and asked, “enjoying yourself, _John_?”

“Pretty much, _Flynn_ ,” Steve answered, tilting his head to be able to look at Bucky and offer him a fond smile.

A beat. “Hey, uh, you wanna go out and get dinner tomorrow night?” Bucky asked, wrapping his arms around Steve’s narrow waist even tighter. “It’s been a while since we had a date night…”

“Aw Buck, I’m sorry if I’ve been neglecting you,” Steve apologized, bumping the side of his head against the side of Bucky’s quite affectionately. “But I don’t know if we can meet any dinner reservations tomorrow night—I have to be at SHIELD.”

“Well, if what you’re worried about is coming in late, we can just have a stay-at-home date—watch a movie together and get pizza,” offered Bucky with a lop-sided smile. “I’ll arrange everything. You only have to show up.”

“Of course, I’ll be there, sweetheart,” assured Steve with a squeeze to Bucky’s arms that were still wrapped around his body. “So, tomorrow’s a date, huh?”

“It’s a date.”

-0-0-0-

Bucky’s date with Steve the following night started out fine enough. Steve wasn’t too late in coming home from an entire day spent at SHIELD headquarters. He was in a good enough mood because he felt that he was finally making headway with training his recruits considering that no one ended up accidentally shooting someone else during sims for the first time in several weeks.

Steve had also had word with SHIELD Director Mace about keeping an eye out for the countries that were stragglers in the ratification race before the first-year anniversary of the signing of the Sokovia Accords amendments as a preemptive measure, in case terrorists tried to target them. Steve told Bucky that he had been itching to name drop Thaddeus Ross to Mace as the possible perp in these terrorist attacks, but without any solid evidence, all they had really were suspicions. Until Tony could find anything tying Ross to these incidents of unrest, all they could do was be vigilant.

While Steve practically talked Bucky’s ear off with the mechanics of peace-keeping organizations like SHIELD, international security measures and United Nations politics, they partook of pizza, soda and tubs of ice cream while on a blanket laid out on the rooftop landing pad, underneath the stars and amidst gentle early autumn winds. When they’ve exhausted all possible conversation about politics, they pointed out constellations and stars to each other, reminisced and joked about their common, old friends, and told anecdotes about the more creative costumes of their friends at Lila’s party the day before.

“My favorite would have to be Theresa’s costume though,” Steve said, chortling. Theresa was Sam’s six-year-old niece from a cousin who lived in Queens, who had come to the party dressed as the blue-tang fish from _Finding Nemo_ , Dory, complete with blue tights and face paint.

At the mention of Theresa and remembering what she had been dressed as, Bucky scrambled off the blanket to hustle back to his room where’s Finn’s gang’s tank was, mumbling to Steve that he would be back as soon as he’d fed his fish some dinner.

“You know, you never did tell me the story of how you came to own the first of your fish,” Steve segued once Bucky was back, lying prostrate on the blanket, opposite to Steve’s own body with their heads next to each other and face up to get an eyeful of the stars.

“Really?!” Bucky started at that, turning his head to look at Steve’s profile. He could’ve sworn that he’d said something about it since the addition of the fish tank in his bedroom was not exactly subtle. “I never told you how I got Finn?”

“Nope,” Steve answered. “Little guy has a name, huh? Finn. Nice…”

“Tony gave him to me,” Bucky began. “We went to a carnival farther upstate after one reverse engineering session and we played all these games of chance and skill. Tony happened to win a goldfish in one game and he gave the little guy to me,” Bucky narrated as simply as he could, complete with a casual shrug. He didn’t know how sore a subject it still was for Steve that Bucky still had feelings for Tony. The last thing he wanted was for Steve to feel like the carnival thing with Tony was more special than _their_ own dates.

Steve chuckled, drumming his fingers on his abdomen. “How come I’m not surprised that of all places he could’ve taken you, he chose to take you to a _carnival_?” A pause. Bucky couldn’t tell if it was pregnant with hidden meaning or internal musings or not. “Tony has always been just a… _big kid_ with the way he looks at the world. He sure can appreciate the little things like going to carnivals and…flying kites.”

Good thing they were no longer eating or Bucky would’ve choked on something when Steve mentioned kite-flying. The BARF scene of Tony and his husband flying a kite that Bucky had inadvertently seen before came unbidden at the forefront of his mind. “Is that what you guys got up to when you went bonding? You went kite-flying?”

“Yeah,” answered Steve. “I borrowed Rhodey’s truck, loaded it up, and we went kite-flying in Central Park.”

 _Holy shit_! Steve had taken Tony kite-flying in Central Park without a morsel of an idea of the significance of the activity for Tony. Bucky could only imagine how that had gone down with the genius-billionaire. It was no wonder Steve thought he’d said something wrong to Tony that day. Because Tony would’ve enjoyed that activity about as gamely as he would’ve enjoyed getting his innards ripped out of his body. The former Sergeant didn’t know if he should applaud Steve’s initiative or roughly cuff him at the back of the head.

“H—how did he take it—kite-flying?” Bucky almost dreaded the answer.

“Gloated at his success, but not as much as when he came out on top at _biking_ ,” Steve relayed, sniggering at the memory again. “He was taught how to ride a bike by their butler, Jarvis. I’d told him it was _you_ who taught me.”

“Jarvis…” Bucky tried the name out in his lips. It was, of course, a familiar name; one Tony had so reverently told him about. “Jarvis who was like a father to Tony… He’d told me stories about how Jarvis used to take him to fun trips, but his most memorable was a trip to the planetarium…”

Steve hummed in thought. “Jarvis was important to him. When I first came around in this century, Tony’s AI was actually named after Jarvis. JARVIS, the AI, was like Tony’s digital best friend, who occasionally sassed him but always had his best interests at heart. JARVIS was like an unofficial Avenger,” Steve told Bucky to catch him up to how things used to be.

“What happened to JARVIS? Why is FRIDAY Tony’s AI now?” Bucky asked, propping himself up on his elbows to better look at Steve and crossing his ankles.

Steve told him about Loki’s scepter, Sokovia, Ultron and Vision. And Bucky commented that it all sounded like a really exciting sci-fi movie.

“Speaking of movies,” Steve changed the topic. “What are you in the mood to watch tonight?”

“Well, I was hoping we could watch _Inception_. I’ve been meaning to see it, but I haven’t had the chance to yet,” Bucky suggested, sitting up from the blanket and watching from out of the corner of his eye as Steve followed suit and sat up, too.

Steve assented to the suggestion with an agreeable nod. “ _Inception_ is one of Tony’s favorite movies, actually. He’s probably seen it like 82 times or something.”

“Really?” Bucky didn’t know that. He ought to be surprised that Steve did. Only he was more pleased than surprised that Steve knew that about Tony and cared to share the knowledge with Bucky. “You want to queue the movie while I get some popcorn then?”

It was easy to see why Tony liked _Inception_ ; the movie was very…cerebral. It was quite intellectual without sacrificing the artistic aspects and heart.

When, one time, two-thirds into the movie, Bucky reached for the popcorn bowl only to grab at emptiness, he gave a ‘tsk’ dripping with reprimand and a knee-jerk statement of, “you’re worse than Tony when you hog the popcorn, d’you know that?”

“I resent that,” Steve said, giving him an ‘are-you-kidding-me?’ look before continuing, “no one’s worse than Tony hogging the popcorn. Oh wait, hang on—this is the best part of the movie according to Tony…”

The movie was really excellent, and it was made even more exceptional by the open ending. “Oh, so that’s why it’s good! It’s a Christopher Nolan movie,” Bucky observed, gesturing towards the end credits on the screen. “Tony mentioned another Nolan movie that he likes…ah! _Memento_. I haven’t seen it yet but I feel like I have when Tony gave me exhaustive commentary on it one time that I was getting my arm adjusted.”

“Oh yeah—he’s an absolute sucker for Nolan movies,” Steve agreed. “But I did tease him about _Dunkirk_ that one time, that the only reason he was interested to see that movie was because of Harry from One Direction. And he gave me a dirty look,” Steve said, recalling the conversation with a throaty laugh. “Did he ever have an opportunity to talk about _12 Angry Men_ during your arm adjustments?”

“ _Oh yeah_! He practically quoted the entire dialogue of that movie to me,” Bucky laughed with a wry shake of his head, getting immersed in recollections of his own. “He said he had that and _The Godfather_ completely memorized by the time he was in his teens.”

“Hmmm… I didn’t know that,” Steve musingly muttered more to himself than to his companion. Silence enveloped the two of them after that as the end credits to _Inception_ kept on rolling.

Bucky felt like the silence signaled something neither of them was brave enough to put into words. Putting it into words made it undeniable. Putting it into words would put a strain on whatever it was they said they would try out. Putting it into words would change everything. Whether they liked it or not.

“Listen to us, we just spent an entire date practically talking about _Tony_.” Bucky guessed he was going to be the one to take charge of this conversation. Wasn’t this what he’d wanted? He wanted to know. He wanted _Steve_ to know—to come to terms with it. This was how they were going to be able to start to do something about it. Because they said they would make this— _them_ —work. For them to work, they needed to deal with the hard conversations rather than leave them unsaid. He was in the middle of getting his head on straight, and the last thing he needed in his life right now was more mind games from someone he loved.

“Stevie, I see the way you look at him,” Bucky started after a resolute and calming breath. “I _know_ how you feel about him. You don’t have to be afraid or ashamed of what you’re feeling—“

“—Bucky—“

“— _I’ve_ never tried to hide it from you that I have feelings for Tony. You know that from day one,” Bucky reminded. “I didn’t want to lie to you and to myself. Because if we’re doing this, the least I could do is be honest with you. Now, _I_ want _you_ to be honest with me, too, Stevie. Are you in love with Tony?”

“What?”

“You heard me,” said Bucky. “Just answer the question, Steve. This ain’t a question with a right or wrong answer. This ain’t something that if you answer incorrectly, you will be flayed to within an inch of your life. I’m giving you a get-out-of-jail-free card along with it. I’m not gonna judge. I promise not to be pissed. I just. Want to know. The truth. If you’re in love with him, I’d rather you tell me.” It was going to be hard for Steve to believe that Bucky actually felt as calm as he sounded. He was telling the God’s honest truth, too. He just wanted to know. Because who was he to judge and feel hurt when he, too, still harbored inappropriate feelings for another when he was already supposed to be trying out how to have a relationship with one?

“No, I’m not in love with Tony,” Steve answered evenly, bravely meeting Bucky’s stormy-blue eyes. “It’s you I’m in love with, Buck.

“Tony is—Tony’s _important_ to me. Having Tony back as a friend makes me happy. But Tony is just that—a friend. A _dear_ friend, yes—but only a friend.

“I know you still love him, and I’m going to be a hypocrite if I tell you that things as they are don’t hurt me because they do. But I can’t command your heart no more than you can. So, I’m willing to wait and to keep trying this relationship thing out with you. I’m willing to wait until _you’re_ sure about what you want.

“Because _I_ know what I want, Bucky. I’m happy. I am happy with you—I am,” Steve remarked, snaking his arm to entwine around Bucky’s and entangle their fingers together. He propped his head against Bucky’s shoulder and murmured again, “I am happy with you. I don’t need anyone else—I don’t…”

Bucky tilted his head to lean against Steve’s and closed his eyes.

When they were still young, the brunette remembered how Steve was such a lousy liar. Bucky could always tell when Steve was trying to feed him lies, and it wasn’t always clear _how_ Bucky could tell. Just that _he could_.

This time, Bucky couldn’t tell. He couldn’t tell if Steve was lying, when it used to come so naturally to him as breathing. The feeling of not being able to tell whether or not Steve was telling him the truth was just as disconcerting as not feeling jealous when he was supposed to… He _still_ wasn’t feeling scorn or jealousy. Or maybe that was _precisely_ because he couldn’t tell if Steve was lying to him or not—shit! Was it possible that he was losing his touch?

No. No, he wasn’t. He wasn’t losing his touch.

It was just that there was a vast difference between Steve trying to convince someone else of a straight-up lie. And Steve trying to convince _himself_ that he was telling the truth.


	36. 36. STEVE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve begins to avoid Tony to allay Bucky's suspicions, but he hates himself for what he's decided to do. His paranoia about Tony's "plans" reaches an all-time high, and his worst fear comes to pass. Or does it? Is Steve too late?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I missed my weekly update deadline not because RL intervened in the worst way but because I was just lazy over the weekend. I've been trying to read so many stuff all at the same time that 48 hours of the weekend just isn't enough! I've been reading "The Psychology of Harry Potter: An Unauthorized Examination Of The Boy Who Lived" by Neil Mulholland, "The Short History of Nearly Everything" by Bill Bryson, "Shades of Gray" (an MM Romance) by Brooke McKinley, "The Case of the Curious Bride" (a Perry Mason Mystery) by Erle Stanley Gardner, and the Stony fanfic "whatever a sun will always sing" by jelliebean while watching my countryman Manny Pacquiao get trounced by Aussie Jeff Horn (No hard feelings to the Aussies though, I'm a sport! ^_^) and watching "Kong: Skull Island" and an episode or two of Jessica Jones (on NETFLIX) and RDJ appearances promoting Spider-Man: Homecoming on YouTube--I know I'M EFFING NUTS to be doing all that, almost at the same time, all weekend. AND I'm prepared to confess that I'm actually pants at multi-tasking! *shakes head* So you see, no time to write... 
> 
> But, I hope I've more than made up for that with this here new chappie. Still unbeta-read so all mistakes are mine. Spot any SPaG and plot issues? Send me word, please, so I could fix them. ^_^
> 
> Thanks to the reviewers of the 35th (new and regulars), YOU MAKE MY HEART SING! We are down to 4 y'all!!! ^_______^ *pumps fists*
> 
> **Also, Belated HAPPY BIRTHDAY to our beloved Steve Rogers!!!**
> 
> ENJOY the rest of this beautiful Spider-Man: Homecoming Week and ENJOY this chapter, my dear friends! Catch you again soon y'all!!!  
> \---

The first time that Steve saw both Tony and Bucky at the same time, during breakfast with the entire team, on the morning after his and Bucky’s _very_ eventful _Inception_ date, the Captain felt like throwing up the waffles just as he was eating them. His stomach rolled and roiled as his mind kept replaying the conversation he’d had with Bucky about Tony. Steve still couldn’t get over the fact that Bucky had suspected Steve of being—what— _in love_ with Tony, and Bucky wanted Steve to come clean about his feelings!

It was _outrageous_! So outrageous that Steve’s knee-jerk reaction was indignation. He couldn’t understand how Bucky could’ve thought that. Sure, earning Tony’s forgiveness had been one of Steve’s priorities this past year since returning to the Avengers facility, and Tony was a very important part of Steve’s life, especially since he’d woken up in the 21st century, but it was unusual how Bucky could have deduced _romantic love_ out of all of that!

Admittedly, too, Steve was hanging out with Tony a lot more lately and was observing the man more intently than usual, but he couldn’t possibly be _in love_ with Tony—

Could he?

He chalked up the near-obsessive interest in Tony of late to the prospect of losing the latter’s friendship again should the genius decide to desert them to go live in another dimension. And so shortly after having regained the man’s hard-earned forgiveness, too—no. Steve absolutely _refused_ to stand for it. He didn’t fight tooth and nail to have Tony’s friendship back so adamantly only to hang back and do nothing while Tony presumably debated with himself whether he ought to stay or go.

He didn’t pray and hope so hard for Tony to wake up from that coma only to let him go now without a fight. Although he knew full well that if he were as good a friend as he believed he was, the last thing he should be doing was to stand in the way of Tony’s heart and happiness, he couldn’t for the life of him imagine having to wake up every day to a world _without_ Tony Stark.

The mere thought was making the waffles somersault like gymnasts in his stomach. Steve was only too aware of the kind of torture it had been when he, along with half of the team, was exiled in Wakanda, missing Tony’s hyper-verbal wit, cutting sarcasm, and sophisticated intellect only because he didn’t think he had the courage or the _right_ , really, to give Tony a call after everything that had happened between them. But even then, Steve could remember only too clearly how he’d spent his days finding new and old footage of Tony just to satisfy himself that the genius may be a few thousand miles away, but he was just _there_ and the time would come that they’d be able to repair their friendship—their family, and be reunited once again. There were some days, too, that Steve would actually hope for _something_ to happen—something that called for the Avengers to come together again—just to be able to have a reason to see Tony—and the others, of course.

And then, the next time he’d seen Tony again was on a hospital bed, unconscious in a protracted comatose, and Steve’s heart just about wrung itself dry inside his chest.

Imagine, if he’d had to contend with something like that again. Only this time, Tony would _never_ wake up. And Steve would never see Tony, ever again…

Steve grappled with himself to keep his eyes from straying towards Tony’s direction and just quietly nursed his depression-slash-trepidation, keeping his eyes downcast and his arms mechanically forking waffles into his mouth, lest Bucky catch him stealing a glance at Tony again and draw his own conclusions from what, Steve thought, was something supposedly purely innocent on his part.

After breakfast, Steve preferred to just park his butt in the library to read something instead of going to the workshop, as was his habit these past several weeks, to chat Tony up. Bucky was supposed to be hanging out with Vision to catch the ex-HYDRA assassin up on current events, pop culture and social science affairs as part of his continuing education to keep abreast of the 21st century and to give him something else to look forward to apart from the deprogramming reinforcement sessions. Steve stubbornly stayed where he was, reading the same three paragraphs of his book over and over again instead of giving in to the urge to want to see Tony and find out what the latter was working on that day.

By mid-afternoon, though, Steve was already furiously jiggling his leg under the wooden table and internally arguing with himself if he was doing the right thing. On the one hand, if Steve fully believed Bucky to be wrong and that it was only purely friendship he was feeling for Tony, then what was he doing avoiding Tony in the first place as if he were guilty of what Bucky was accusing him of? On the other hand, he wanted to allay Bucky’s possible insecurities of not being enough to make Steve happy or being the dead weight dragging Steve down and making trying to start a relationship doubly difficult for the two of them.

But after a period of intense internal struggle and much jaw-clenching, Steve ended up staying in the library and away from Tony’s workshop, until Bucky and Vision joined him in the library shortly before dinner.

That day became the start of many more days that followed that Steve left Tony alone and either shadowed Bucky in the latter’s activities with the other Avengers or kept to himself, devouring half a dozen books a day or subjecting himself to a punishing workout regimen just to avoid attracting Bucky’s notice that this time around, Steve was consciously avoiding Tony after having been called out on his unusual attention to the genius-billionaire.

And the Captain’s conscious avoidance extended even to their stints at SHIELD HQ where instead of spending his lunch hour with Tony as had become habitual for the two of them, Steve would deliberately either extend training cycles with his recruits to make sure that by the time he took his lunch, Tony had already left to go back to the facility; or take his midday meal early and quickly in the staff lounge so that by the time Tony was off his own work, Steve was safely back in the training field with his recruits and their paths wouldn’t cross until dinner with the team.

Despite his diligent avoidance, however, there was that rare time when Steve decided to take an early lunch that Tony ran into him in the square.

“Oh hey, Cap,” Tony, catching sight of him, casually greeted. Steve supposed that it was too late and too conspicuous to do a 180 then as a last-ditch effort to avoid the brown-eyed genius.

Cringing inwardly, Steve greeted back, “hey Tony.”

“Early lunch?” Tony asked, noticing the brown paper bag in Steve’s clutches, where the latter had stuffed his cafeteria-bought food in. “You wanna ditch the bag and we could run the two blocks to get some Chinese instead? I bet it would taste less like cardboard and more like actual food compared to whatever ghastly concoction it is you have in there.” The usual Tony Stark smirk and twinkling eyes made an appearance.

“I’d love to. But I’m gonna have to pass,” Steve declined, ignoring the guilt and self-hate squeezing his insides. “I have fight sims with the recruits in fifteen, so this is gonna have to tide me over until that’s done.” That blessedly, was the truth. But it sure didn’t make his decision to decline all that much easier to stomach.

“Another time then,” Tony gamely said with another smirk before giving Steve a two-fingered salute and leaving.

Thankfully—or _regrettably_ , depending on the perspective—another incident like that never happened again. SHIELD HQ was fortunately large enough to make sure that if Steve really put his mind to it, he could avoid running into Tony for days on end.

Meals and team activities like recreation nights and training, though, were quite another thing as Steve couldn’t intentionally elude Tony then unless he was willing to sit the activity out. But if he were to do that often enough, Bucky, not to mention Natasha and Sam, would be sure to notice the uncharacteristic snub. So, Steve bore those activities with as much grace and quiet resignation as he could muster, preferring to keep his eyes well away from Tony and his guilt for avoiding his teammate this way at bay.

He was half-expecting to be called out on his obnoxious behavior during hand-to-hand combat training with the team which Steve, himself, spearheaded by sparring with his teammates—one after another when the Captain happily took Scott down with a loud whole-body thud against the mat only to realize that it was Tony that Steve was supposed to spar with next.

He panicked for about two seconds before asking Natasha, as calmly and casually as he could, to step in for him and spar with Tony. While Tony and Nat sparred on the mat, Steve intermittently drank from a water tumbler, his eyes glued to the graceful figures of his two teammates—but mostly on Tony, subconsciously admiring how Tony hid behind his lithe, lightly muscled frame, astonishing power that most people were quick to underestimate.

Remembering the tussle that was Siberia, Steve knew better than to be one of those to count Tony Stark out. His technological genius may be Tony’s superpower, but he wasn’t completely helpless in a mano-a-mano.

After Natasha took Tony down as expected—but only after some wonderful hits himself, which garnered compliments from both his sparring partner and the spectators—Steve took over again to spar with Peter.

If Tony or anybody else had noticed Steve’s evasive tactics during sparring, no one pointed it out. And he inwardly breathed a sigh of relief at that.

He fervently hoped that Tony wouldn’t notice or take offense that Steve was being a colossal ass because the blonde didn’t want Tony to think that Steve’s actions were somehow his fault or something, because _Tony wasn’t at fault_ for Bucky’s suspicions or for Steve’s desire to not invite further suspicion from his lover.

Steve supposed he should thank the heavens for small miracles because Tony didn’t seem aware that any such tension existed between Bucky and Steve because of him. The genius was still his usual snarky and witty self with the team, especially around Rhodey and Peter, and he was still blessedly showing up for group activities with minimum cajoling from his teammates. Then again, Steve didn’t know if he should trust his assessment of Tony’s clueless state-of-mind when Steve could barely risk stealing sidelong glances at the genius so as not to invite Bucky’s attention.

But whenever Steve _could_ chance those furtive glances, an unexplainable ache squeezed at his guts. He found it hard to believe and forgive himself that after having gone through hell fighting to get their friendship back in one piece, he was doing this to Tony now. He was such an asshole. But he was an asshole who _loved_ Bucky, and Steve didn’t want Bucky to have any issues about the nature of Steve’s relationship with Tony. The chasm that was created between Steve and Bucky because of the latter’s own feelings for Tony was wide and challenging enough as it was to bridge, that the last thing Steve wanted to do was to make that gap wider still by Bucky’s disquiet about Steve’s own feelings for Tony.

Tony was just a close friend—a dear friend, whose friendship Steve valued and sorely missed during their conflict that now that he was able to repair that self-same friendship, Steve wanted so badly to protect it. Steve regarded Tony as no more and no less than that—

Right?

Right…

Tony was just a friend. It was _Bucky_ that Steve was in love with—Bucky, that Steve was romantically attached to and was sexually attracted to. Steve only kept looking at Tony to try to catch the man off guard as to what was really running through his head—whether he was only _pretending_ to be happy while already planning to skedaddle to another dimension. Looking at Tony had _absolutely_ nothing to do with having a warm feeling in the pit of Steve’s stomach at seeing the man smile and laugh.

Steve only hung out with Tony for selfish reasons, like to quiet his own anxieties about Ross and to satisfy himself that Tony was not making comprehensive plans regarding the Avengers’ future after the genius will have gone—back to that other world, never to return as he had been stupid enough to do almost a year ago. Seeking Tony out had absolutely nothing to do with the rush that would spread like wildfire through Steve’s body every time he listened to Tony talk about his projects so passionately, or watched Tony work with such focus, or made Tony laugh by saying something uncharacteristically inane.

About a fortnight after the _Inception_ date, Steve, while sat in the living area flipping through TV channels, was in the middle of his usual internal struggle whether to stay put or seek Tony out in the workshop, when Bucky languidly strode in and plopped down on the couch, quickly turning Steve’s lap into a pillow. “What are you doing?” Bucky asked, tilting his head to have a better look at Steve.

“Just seeing if there’s anything interesting to watch,” Steve vaguely replied, inwardly bristling that the question had been a pretty loaded one. He tried to keep himself calm because the thing with Bucky was that he was perceptive enough to latch on to an unintended slip of the tongue or a guilty twitch no matter how slight. It wouldn’t do Steve any good to appear the least bit guilty that he had been doing something lately that he wasn’t supposed to be doing (read, evading Tony like a grade-A jackass). “What about you? Aren’t you supposed to be studying or training with someone right now?”

“Yeah, I was just with Tony for a crash course of sorts related to technology and engineering, particularly the equipment and gadgetry around the compound,” Bucky said, turning his head away from Steve and towards the TV. “But he had to cut our discussion short.”

“Oh yeah?” Steve asked as casually as he could manage. “Why’s that?”

“He had to leave for Stark Tower. He’ll be gone for five days or so,” Bucky relayed. Yeah, well if Steve wasn’t being such an ass these past couple weeks, Tony might have mentioned something about leaving for Stark Tower for a few days, too. As it was, Steve would have to content himself hearing the information from someone else.

“Did he tell you the reason?” Steve hesitantly inquired, almost immediately following it up with, “something about Ross or preparations for the anniversary of the Accords’ amendments, maybe?”

“He didn’t say,” answered Bucky with a small shrug. “You should’ve asked him yourself before he left,” Bucky said, mildly chastising. “You hang out often enough—here or at SHIELD. Don’t you guys talk?”

Goodness knew what Bucky could be thinking about right now regarding what Steve and Tony usually did instead of talking whenever they hung out… Steve wanted to sarcastically retort that he would’ve definitely asked and they would definitely be talking if he hadn’t been busy trying to avoid Tony to assuage Bucky’s suspicions!

“Not recently. Been busy,” muttered Steve. Yeah—busy reading books that practically just flew over his head, busy internally wrestling with himself to stay put and not go to the workshop, busy keeping his head down so as to avoid running into Tony at SHIELD HQ…

“So, uh—how—how—“ _‘How is he? How’s Tony?’_ Steve stammered through the question, unsure how he was going to phrase it without making Bucky suspicious about Tony again and without cluing Bucky in that Steve had been trying to avoid Tony of late. It wasn’t coming out right, though. He tried a different tack. “D—did he seem like he was on top of the Ross situation? Did he seem like he was still stressing about it?”

What he’d really wanted to ask Bucky was if Tony seemed calm and content enough not to go gallivanting to another world.

“Well, he didn’t complain about Ross like he usually does, and he seems to think that Ross is hiding among his supporters here in the US,” narrated Bucky, stealthily stealing the remote control from Steve’s loose grasp and pointing it towards the TV to channel surf at his pace. “Tony seemed calm—calm enough to focus on actually giving me the basic rundown to some of the more technical and far-reaching equipment around here. Although… there _was_ a moment when he turned overexcited about something—like a—like a _Eureka_ moment, and he started muttering gibberish to himself with a manic gleam to his eyes and he said he had to cut our discussion short because he had to go to Midtown. No further explanations—said he’d be back in five days as he was hustling me out of the workshop. You think maybe it’s finally occurred to him how to smoke Ross out?”

Steve sure as hell hoped that that was all there was to it. Because the _other thing_ that Tony could be excited about was something that Steve absolutely refused to even begin to think about.

Thereafter, the Captain decided to ask FRIDAY for daily updates on Tony’s status for the entire duration of the genius’ stay in Midtown just to ease up on his own misgivings about Tony’s purpose for leaving the facility. Steve didn’t know he could sink any lower than being a grade-A jackass, but apparently he could: by further downgrading himself to being a _grade-A jackass creepy stalker_.

Somehow, Steve couldn’t take comfort in the fact that Tony had told Bucky that he would be back in five days’ time. Every day that Tony was not at the facility was like a splinter digging itself just a little bit deeper in Steve’s brain. He was sad, moody, and restless. _All the damn time._ All food began to taste bland; team activities felt empty and joyless even if he’d spent them in the company of friends and firmly by Bucky’s side; nights saw him sleepless and anxious, staring at the ceiling and lying in bed with Bucky wrapped around him.

He missed Tony.

He missed seeing Tony laugh; he missed hearing Tony talk about his pet projects; he missed ‘disagreeing’ with Tony.

That night, Steve couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t believe that he could lie there beside Bucky’s sleeping figure and think about _Tony_. It wasn’t right because it was Bucky he was supposed to be in love with. So, what was he doing losing sleep, thinking of someone else? Tony was only supposed to be his friend—nothing more. But these past couple weeks of staying away from Tony felt like some kind of self-imposed punishment.

It was like Wakanda all over again.

Tony was supposed to be back already. It had already been five days. With single-minded focus, Steve left the warmth of his and Bucky’s bed, clutching his current sketchbook, to haul ass to Tony's workshop and look his fill of Tony’s comforting presence. Tony would probably stare at him as if he’d grown horns, unaware of Steve’s two-week-long stupidity, before going back to whatever it was he had been doing, softly bopping his head in time to the rock music reverberating all over his workspace, and Steve would seat himself somewhere unobtrusively and draw Tony. And find calm that Tony was there. And that Tony wasn’t going to leave him.

“FRIDAY, is Tony in the workshop?” Steve asked as soon as he hit the living area, striding purposefully towards the elevator that would take him to Tony’s workshop.

“ _I’m sorry, Captain, but the Boss isn’t back yet,_ ” FRIDAY informed. “ _He’s decided to extend his stay in Midtown._ ”

The disappointment sent Steve’s heart plummeting to the soles of his feet. “Did he say why?”

“ _He’s been in a whirlwind of meetings since he left the facility, Captain. He has quite a lot on his plate, though he didn’t say directly which one of his current concerns is keeping him from returning as scheduled._ ”

“Is he—is he OK, FRIDAY? I mean, is he—”

“ _Sir is in perfect health. He is currently in his penthouse suite at Stark Tower after having just adjourned his meeting with SI Legal that extended well into the night. He ate a sub sandwich and chips during the meeting under the watchful eye of Ms. Potts,_ ” reported the AI with not a tinge of fondness for his creator. “ _Would you like me to place a call to him for you, Captain?_ ”

“Oh no—no need, Fry. I just wanted to know if he was OK,” Steve said. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to him in a while as I’m sure you’ve noticed…”

“ _I have indeed noticed, Captain, especially as compared to the time you used to spend in Sir’s company before the onset of the past nineteen days._ ”

Steve actually had the grace to blush and grimace at how FRIDAY was telling him off as subtly as her coding allowed. “He, uh, he hasn’t noticed, has he?”

“ _He hasn’t exhibited any external manifestations that he has, Captain,_ ” FRIDAY confirmed. “ _Sir, himself, has been tremendously busy of late what with team activities, his SHIELD consultancy, looking for information on and the whereabouts of former Secretary Ross, keeping an eye out for amendments-related unrest in the ratifying countries, product launch with SI and gathering data to report to the United Nations on the matter of the Accords’ amendments, that he only ever saw you and Sergeant Barnes on a semi-regular basis—and Doctor Strange that one time—despite Mr. Parker’s insistence to—_ ”

But the rest of FRIDAY’s statement was lost on Steve as he latched on to something crucial in the information she’d just provided: Tony’s talked with Stephen. Something heavy and cold settled at the bottom of Steve’s stomach at the knowledge.

Tony has talked with Stephen—

“When—FRIDAY? When did Tony and Stephen talk?” He tried to wrestle the anxiety out of his voice. If Tony’s had a talk with Stephen around the same time that Steve had started to avoid Tony, then that was probably as definite an answer as any to the question of whether or not Tony’s noticed Steve’s actions. And Steve would have no one to blame but himself for practically pushing Tony towards the portal of the other dimension. The mere thought made Steve’s breath catch in his throat almost painfully.

But if Tony hasn’t noticed Steve’s snub, what _was_ the genius doing, talking to Stephen in the first place?

“ _Boss went to the doctor’s bunker two days after you fetched him from the workshop to go outside of the facility._ ”

Tony sought Stephen out two days after they’d gone to Central Park. “Do you have footage of their conversation?” Steve asked, almost desperately. If what he’d always suspected was true—that Tony was indeed thinking of getting Stephen’s assistance to go back to that other dimension—he was going to fire up his motorcycle right now, ride to Midtown, barge into Tony’s penthouse suite and—what? What _was_ he prepared to do? He fought down the urge to plod deep cracks through the living area’s wooden floorboards, pacing back and forth through it.

“ _I’m afraid it was part of Mr. Stark and Doctor Strange’s arrangement that the doctor’s area here in the facility will contain only minimal technology so as not to interfere with the magical energy involved. For that reason, Doctor Strange’s bunker is one of my very few blind spots here in the compound. I only have audio-visual at the front door and limited sensors to detect vital signs and heat signatures inside the bunker, Captain—but I do not have audio-visual footage of their meeting, my apologies._ ”

“Where is Stephen right now?” Maybe if he couldn’t talk to Tony about what exactly he had discussed with the sorcerer, he could ask Stephen about it instead. And then what? Steve, funny enough, still didn’t have an answer to what he was going to do if all his fears turned out to be true all along.

“ _Doctor Strange is at the Sanctum in Bleecker,_ ” FRIDAY neutrally reported, thankfully not sharing the panic burgeoning in Steve’s gut.

Like an officer subjecting someone to a rigorous interrogation, Steve was instantaneously ready with more questions for FRIDAY. “Has Tony left the Tower since he arrived? Has he scheduled a meeting— _any meeting_ —in the vicinity of Bleecker tomorrow or the day after?” He was grinding his teeth in between words so forcefully that his face was starting to hurt.

But before FRIDAY could answer Steve’s latest batch of inquiries, another voice broke through the silence of the living area. “Stevie? What are you doing up? Is something wrong?” It was Bucky—dressed only in low-riding lounge pants, barefoot, shirtless and heavy-eyed with interrupted sleep.

FRIDAY, bless her, mercifully kept silent, leaving Steve to deal with Bucky himself.

Steve hesitated for all of three heartbeats, internally debating whether or not to share this new information with Bucky, but he stopped himself. He wasn’t about to give Bucky more opportunities to fan the flames of his insecurities about their budding romance and Steve’s feelings towards Tony. Steve was supposed to give Bucky—and no one else—his full, unadulterated affection _and_ attention because it was with Bucky that he was looking to build a life-long relationship with.

He was just going to have to push these Tony-related misgivings at the back of his mind. For now. At least until he had sorted out the jumble of emotions threatening to unravel everything his life used to be about.

“Nothing’s wrong. I just—I couldn’t sleep. I was thinking of getting an early start at the gym,” Steve replied, hiding the slight shaking of his hand by scratching the back of his head in a sheepish fashion. “I’m sorry if I disturbed you, Buck. You should go back to sleep.”

The stubborn Captain inwardly made a promise to himself to talk to Tony as soon as the latter was back at the compound. Just the two of them. Steve would confront Tony, once and for all, about any plans he might have to whisk himself back to the other dimension, dissuading him from any such plans because his team—his _family_ —was here and they would be lost without him—

 _Steve_ would be lost without him.

Steve only hoped he wasn’t too late to change Tony’s mind.

-0-0-0-

“The UN summit for the evaluation of the global effects of the Sokovia Accords’ amendments is in 18 hours,” Steve said without preamble instead of greeting Natasha, whom he was intending to relieve from her usual six-hour afternoon watch in the Command Center. “I feel like we should be doing something to help Tony and SI prepare for this. Is he even on his way to where they’re holding the event?” Steve followed up almost immediately after his opening statement.

It’s been another two days since Steve had woken up in the middle of night, pestering FRIDAY with questions as to why Tony wasn’t back yet.

And Tony _still_ wasn’t back yet.

Steve had had to content himself with trying to keep pace with Tony’s activities, keep tabs on Tony’s whereabouts through FRIDAY’s video feeds of the Tower and news footages of the latest SI product launch: the Stark Industries’ Medical Prosthesis Line—which according to Tony, himself, took inspiration from his own work upgrading Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes’ arm prosthesis as well as dabbling in the late Maya Hansen’s research on genetic engineering and the potential to upgrade the human body with the addition of ‘smart’ limbs.

“He still has another SI product to launch and then he’d be on his way to South Africa. Rhodey and Vision are already there to case the joint, make sure all the security’s in place. T’Challa will be joining Tony there also,” Natasha answered calmly, her eyes not leaving the Command Center screen that was divided in seven different panels with the nearest one showing footage of the amendments’ ratification proceedings in China. “China’s just ratified. That makes 93 countries ratifying now. Seems like pretty quiet proceedings—there were rallies both in support of and against the amendments in populated cities, but no terrorist threats or violence.”

“No sign of Ross anywhere in these ratifying countries?” Steve asked, standing at parade rest beside the armchair in front of the central console where Natasha sat.

“Tony thinks Ross is somewhere here in the US, being protected and kept out of sight by his lackeys in case someone may be catching on that he is the central figure-slash-common thread in the ‘terrorist threats’ in these ratifying countries,” Natasha replied, leaning on the back rest of the armchair and crossing her ankles under the console’s overhang.

“’ _Someone_ ’ being _us_ , right?”

“’ _Someone_ ’ being us,” confirmed Natasha. “The fanatics more inclined to employ violence are all lying low; no news is good news, but then again, everything could very well come to a head during the UN summit.”

“You’re saying Tony’s life may be in danger?”

“No more than the usual, and nothing he cannot defend himself against,” Natasha reassured, raising a curious eyebrow at Steve and the tone that he realized too late was sure to pique the interest of someone as perceptive as Natasha. “It should be the countries yet to ratify that we should keep in our sights. Though it doesn’t seem to be Ross’ M.O. to foster anarchy, it may just as well be a ‘custom-made’ threat particularly employed to trip The Avengers up—to prove to the nations that they’re wrong in giving us elbow-room and a bit of discretion under the amendments.”

After a pregnant pause where both Natasha and Steve were, no doubt, immersed in their own thoughts, Steve spoke, “if you’re on point to devise a way to smoke Ross out, show his connection to these terror threats directed at the countries yet to ratify, and then prevent any future attacks on his say-so, how would you do it?”

“I will do like when HYDRA infiltrated SHIELD. I will dump all his best-kept junk right where everyone can see. I will turn every pap, netizen and politico with half a brain, a smartphone and an internet connection into our own eyes and ears. And everything Ross has ever tried to do in his career, everything he’s tried to hide will be connected to why he hates Enhanced so much, to why he tried to steamroller the Sokovia Accords without so much as a by-your-leave and to why he’s trying to roadblock the amendments by targeting the countries that support it—one by one—through these contrived attacks. The people themselves will be vigilant in looking for the enemy once we’ve put a face to it. He won’t be able to so much as sneeze without it being on the damn six o’clock news,” Natasha described with not a little scorn and vindictiveness, complete with what sounded like Russian swear words in between.

“Coming from us, couldn’t that simply be dismissed by Ross’ supporters as bad propaganda?” Steve asked, doubtful. A part of him could, nevertheless, appreciate the cunning beauty of Natasha’s methods.

“True. But it’ll do the job to get people talking, to get people digging deeper. We can get accused throwing crap around and waiting to see what sticks. But as long as I’m not the one trying to wash off crap while saving face, I can handle it. That is…if I can even get my hands on the right kind of information,” Natasha countered with some regret. “I can’t—even I’m not _that_ good, but _Tony_ can…”

“It’s too dangerous to be putting a bull’s eye mark on his own back this way. Having had Tony under his thumb before, Ross will know which direction to point fingers, and Tony has too much to lose—he has SI and all the good work he can still do in world,” argued Steve, narrowing his eyes and stuffing his fists in his pockets.

“That’s _twice_ now in the last ten minutes that you’ve shown uncharacteristic concern for Tony’s physical well-being,” Natasha casually observed, studying her fingernails nonchalantly. “Something weighing heavily in your mind of late, Cap?”

“What are you talking about? Am I not allowed to worry about my teammates?” Steve asked with a nervous laugh, trying to downplay Natasha’s interest in Steve’s concern.

“Well, there’s worry,” Natasha conceded, continuing, “and then there’s _worry_ …

“What’s _really_ going on between you, Bucky and Tony, Steve? And don’t try to tell me that there’s _nothing_ going on because I haven’t made a name in this shit that I do to be taken for a fool by my own family,” threatened Natasha. And when Natasha _threatened_ , you should be damn well heedful of it unless you want your bones re-arranged in the most painful way possible.

So, Steve made sure to tell her the complete story—from finding out about Tony’s memories from the other dimension, to getting paranoid that Tony planned to leave them high and dry; from discovering a new appreciation for Tony as a close friend, to getting the shock of his life when Bucky confronted him about his suspicions that Steve maybe had feelings for Tony; from feeling jealous because of Bucky’s high regard for Tony, to feeling guilty when he began to avoid Tony out of conscious choice to keep Bucky from being insecure about Steve’s true affections.

At the mention of Steve’s recent avoidance of Tony, Natasha asked with narrowed eyes, “and how’s _that_ working out for ya? You know, I never thought I’d say this to _Captain America_ , of all people—but you have to _man up_ ,” Natasha very astutely pointed out before continuing, “because you didn’t fight tooth and nail to regain your friendship with Tony only to ruin it because you can’t come to terms with being in love with two people at once,” chastised the redhead, lips curling in irritation.

“But I’m not—“

“You wouldn’t have had to _avoid Tony_ if Bucky was wrong,” Natasha interrupted, eyes piercing and slicing through Steve’s curtains upon curtains of denial and self-hate that have accumulated these past few weeks.

Steve opened and closed his mouth like a fish in water, searching for words to fill the silence with. Finally, he was able to argue that, “I only avoided Tony because I didn’t want Bucky to be insecure in this relationship thing that we’re trying out.”

“Bucky doesn’t seem to have the same compunction, does he?”

“I can’t control what he feels,” bit Steve back, almost angry.

“No, you can’t,” Natasha retorted. “So, you’re trying to control your own—“

“— _I love Bucky_ , Nat,” Steve mouthed, near desperate.

“—I didn’t say you don’t—“

“I’ve loved him all my life. I want to make this work with him; I don’t want to lose him—”

“—But you can lose _Tony_?”

It was like Siberia all over again. And something inside Steve broke anew. He’d gone through hell and back for over a year, desperately wanting to make things right by Tony, earn Tony’s friendship, respect, trust and regard back, show Tony how much he’d meant to Steve—how much he would _always_ mean to Steve…

“No,” Steve nearly choked in answer. He doubted he could feel so broken and desperate and melancholic these past few weeks if losing Tony was even an option he could readily entertain.

“Then get off your ass and face the problem instead of ignoring it, hoping it’d fix itself,” advised the former assassin after a period of thoughtful silence. “You’re the _Star Spangled Man with a Plan_ so, plan—take the bull by the horns and set the record straight. Before you end up losing one—or worse, _both_ —of them.”

But before he could admit to Natasha that the truth was, he didn’t know what to do—didn’t know how to confront things if indeed the redhead was right in that Steve was in love with two people at once, FRIDAY intruded in the pair’s conversation, the AI’s usually modulated voice a touch agitated—if mere technological constructs could even _feel_ agitation.

“ _Ms. Romanoff, Captain Rogers, as per Protocol 4465 devised by Mr. Stark, this is to report that at 1228 hours—or six hours ago, I lost all contact with Mr. Stark. I haven’t been able to pick up any traces of him—not any footage in the public CCTVs, nothing on thermal and satellite imaging, the tracers in his clothing as well as the subdermal ones have all been disabled. Based on the Tower garage camera footage—which, incidentally, is the last footage I have of him in the past six hours, he had taken a vintage car which I have not been uploaded to. Calls, texts and emails sent to his phone remain unanswered. I can still get a signal from his phone, but it hasn’t moved in more than four hours—indicating that the phone could very well have been left at the place where the signal is coming from._ ”

“Where is his phone’s signal coming from?” Natasha was off the armchair in a heartbeat and bent over the main console to put what FRIDAY had reported on the Command Center screen.

“ _In a back alley off 6th_ ,” FRIDAY answered quickly.

“And you’re saying you just…lost contact—there’s no advice from him that he intends to go off the grid?” Natasha asked, turning towards Steve now expecting to get a clue as to how to move forward from there.

Unfortunately, Steve was fast becoming a victim to a spreading coldness from the tips of his fingers and toes, crawling towards his heart.

Tony was gone. Missing.

Was Steve too late?

“ _None, whatsoever._ ”

“Is the phone’s signal anywhere in the vicinity of Bleecker?” Steve finally spoke up, forcing the words through his teeth. Natasha only looked at him quizzically, wondering where Steve could be going with the line of inquiry.

“ _The signal is three blocks or so away from Bleecker, Captain,_ ” informed FRIDAY.

It was like the stuff of Steve’s worst nightmares. If Tony’s gone missing so near the vicinity of Stephen’s Sanctum, what were the odds that Tony’s gone and done what Steve has been dreading all this time? Would Tony be that cruel to just abandon them so unceremoniously like this? Then again, hasn’t _Steve_ been the cruel one lately—eluding Tony like the latter had got the plague only because Steve couldn’t make sense of his own confused emotions?

“Is it not possible that Tony just wants a—a tech holiday, to go off the grid for a while like what had happened on his birthday? This _has_ happened before, right FRIDAY? Tony going on tech blackout?” Natasha asked, trying to find reason in this madness.

“ _Based on JARVIS’ residual coding that the Boss-man has seen fit to integrate in my system, indeed this abrupt radio silence without forewarning has happened before,_ ” FRIDAY confirmed with foreboding before continuing, “ _when Mr. Stark’s convoy was ambushed in Afghanistan._ ”

A beat.

Steve could only close his shaking hands into fists on his sides. “Sound the alarm, Fry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who have noticed the pattern to the POVs and are expecting that it'd be Tony's POV next, I'm gonna have to dash your expectations. Tony's POV won't be coming next for...reasons... 
> 
> *whispers* He's missing...


	37. 37. BUCKY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony is still missing and all the breadcrumbs lead to dead ends. Ross finally shows his ugly mug, denying that he's responsible for Tony's disappearance; the Avengers aren't convinced. But Bucky feels that they're not seeing the big picture or that something else is at work beneath the surface. Meanwhile, Steve comes clean to Bucky, though with Tony still missing, any resolution for the three of them seems far out of reach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm an asshole; I'm a terrible person for keeping you all hanging for over a month. But RL really sucks. I've been in the throes of another bout of Writer's Block and I don't know if with this chapter I've gotten past it. Maybe it's also because this chapter was damn difficult to write and I wanted to give it a good Karin Slaughter or Robert Galbraith vibe but I think I didn't quite make it... Anywho--I ended up just giving it an emeraldine087 vibe. It's always good to be your voice in your writing, and not aspire to sound like someone else. I just hope that the drama and the mystery are very much there. And that you guys are still interested to see this through to the end despite my erratic update schedules lately. 
> 
> Also, this is a VERY long chapter and I think we can look at the 38th and the 39th to be really long chapters, too. What really happened to Tony will be in the next chappie and the three-way ultimate confrontation is gonna happen on the 39th. So, heavy ones ahead--just giving you a heads up.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's left Kudos and Comments, I love you guys! Any more feedback from you will be appreciated and cherished. Though at this point, there will probably be no further changes to the ending I've envisioned and took notes of, there's no harm in giving me a poke and good feedback that might change how the ending will play out. So yeah, your feedback and any SPaG and plot issues you might care to point me to will be appreciated! ^_^
> 
> Happy, happy weekend everyone! And I hope that you enjoy this chapter that was a long time coming (again, my apologies...)!
> 
> emeraldine087 out--until the next one!  
> BTW: statements enclosed in [brackets] are AV footage. Don't be confused! ^_^  
> \---

Tony was already missing and out of contact for a total of almost twenty hours by the time Bucky located the vintage town car that, based on FRIDAY’s last recorded footage of him, the billionaire had driven to leave the Tower. It was stashed haphazardly in a ground-level garage of a squat and rundown brownstone building about five kilometers southwest of where FRIDAY had picked up the constantly fluctuating signal of Tony’s prototype StarkPhone. Bucky knew that he’d only lucked out in finding the car in the first place when he decided to follow tracks of tires that looked like it had tread through a great puddle of motor oil towards the seedier outskirts of midtown where no one was going to be driving around in unless they lived there or they were up to no good.

And Bucky found the car intact, splayed over what were supposed to be parking spaces for _four_ cars, if the fading paint on the shoddily-cemented garage floor was anything to go by, _but_ carefully locked and wiped clean of any prints on all four, stainless steel door handles and the trunk’s lid.

The curious state of the car made the hairs at the back of Bucky’s neck stand even further on end. It took the former asset a considerable amount of cool not to break his teeth, clenching his jaw, or break one of the windows of the town car with a mere flick of his cybernetic hand to see what clues it held inside as to Tony’s possible whereabouts. They needed the car pristine and whole for FRIDAY’s critical study—one stray fingerprint or hair strand on the surface of the glass could very well point them to where Tony was. Or to where any of his abductors were.

Bucky figured if he was going to break something, it might as well be the face of whoever had dared to spirit Tony away from right under their noses—

Unless Steve was correct. That Tony had disappeared as part of a ploy to throw all of them off the fact that he had decided to leave for another dimension for a more permanent stint this time around—

Bucky had felt like the floor was violently ripped out from right underneath him when he, along with the rest of the team, had heard Steve’s announcement that Tony was missing. The feeling of disbelief, worry and dread all dropped at the pit of his stomach, heavy and smothering, like boulders. Bucky had spent the rest of the team-slash-family meeting with his arms crossed over his chest and his jaw clenched so hard, his face had seriously hurt by the end of it.

“How could this have happened despite your security measures? Who could’ve done this? God—Stevie—we should be out there right this minute hunting those god-fucking assholes down!” Bucky had hissed, staying behind in the Command Center after everyone had gone to pursue their respective assignments to try to find out what could’ve happened to Tony: Scott and Wanda were to go to SI to inform Pepper and try to ramp up their reach in gathering data, audio-video footage and any information from the people who’d last seen Tony before he disappeared, working through the night if they had to; Nat was to stay behind to man the Command Center, coordinate with Vision, Jim and T’Challa in South Africa to see if Tony might turn up there after all, and make sure they have every base covered; Sam was supposed to get in touch with NYPD to see what the men in uniform could contribute to the search efforts; Peter, once he gets back from the out of town quarterfinal qualifier of the academic decathlon, was supposed to join Steve and Bucky in prowling the streets in the vicinity of Tony’s phone’s signal to look for clues that FRIDAY could use to try to reconstruct what could have happened to her creator and, hopefully, lead the Avengers to where the genius was.

“We don’t know that,” Steve had replied with all the cool rationality he could muster, although it was not very difficult for Bucky to see how rattled his best friend really was underneath the façade. “It’s just as likely for him to have deliberately gone off-grid as he is to have been abducted by parties unknown,” hinted Steve, meaningfully meeting Bucky’s eyes in a side glance with an expression etched with worry.

“What’re you sayin’, Stevie?” Bucky had asked, narrowing his eyes; cold and heavy trepidation was slowly settling in the pit of his stomach. “ _Why_ would Tony intentionally make a disappearing act like this now? This ain’t about your suspicions that Tony’s planning to—“

“FRIDAY’s found the last trace of him a couple of blocks from Bleecker— _where Stephen’s Sanctum is_ , Buck,” Steve had interrupted, stony-faced. “What would you have me believe?”

Bucky had tutted, irritated, giving Steve a level stare before saying, “Tony’s not gonna do that.” Tony _wasn’t_ going to do that. Tony was a lot of things but he wasn’t the type to give up on his friends—his _family_ —not when they were just beginning to pick up the pieces of their relationship! Also, Tony promised Bucky that he was _always_ going to be there; he wasn’t going to abandon them like this…

Was he?

“I don’t know,” Steve had raked a hand through his hair, which he was only wont to do when he was frustrated. “I don’t know anymore,” he’d repeated before saying, “this is all my fault. If I hadn’t walked away from him last year, maybe none of this would have happened—he wouldn’t have gotten hurt and fallen into that coma and he wouldn’t have—“

“Stop, Steve—just fucking _stop_!” Bucky’d admonished angrily with a gesture of his cybernetic arm. “We’d do better getting out there and looking for him than sittin’ here on our asses and listing down who’s to blame for what, OK? ‘Sides, we don’t know _that_ —we don’t know if Tony’s given us the slip or if someone got to him. We have to make sure he’s not in danger somewhere out there while, here we sit, thinking the worst o’him!”

And now, there Bucky stood beside the town car where Tony was last seen riding, and he couldn’t help but find something disconcertingly wrong about the too pristine state of the car. Pressing the comm unit stuffed in his right ear, Bucky reported his discovery to the rest of the team, “Guys, I found the car. I’m gonna need an analysis on it.”

“Gotcha—flagging your location. Peter’s on his way with a handheld device to enable FRIDAY to sniff it for clues. Anything you can tell us about the state of the car now?” Natasha’s voice in his ear was clipped, clear and efficient.

“It’s been wiped clean. No fingerprints on the chrome handles that I can see. There might be latent prints on the interior detailing though. Sloppily parked like it’s been abandoned in a hurry but carefully locked from the inside. Glove compartment is open, but I can’t see what’s in it from the passenger side window. Stick’s on first gear though the ground’s not on an incline and there’s no need for it. Handbrake’s engaged—“

“—any sign of a struggle?” Natasha piped up. Bucky could only imagine how many Avengers were listening in on the public comms, waiting with bated breath for his reply to that question.

“None,” Bucky answered, digging a finger in his ear to press on the comm unit again. The communications device was going to take some getting used to, that was for sure. “But I don’t like it. Something doesn’t smell right to me. Do you want me to wait for Spidey here?” He was itching to case the area for any more clues, more signs that point to where Tony could possibly be. He would turn the block inside-out, upside-down to find Tony if he had to.

“No, double back to 6th and meet me in the intersection with Bleecker.” It was Steve’s voice that piped up that time. He sounded like he was weaving pretty fast through back alleys but not because he seemed breathless but because the wind was whistling through the comms.

Bucky breathed his displeasure through the nose. Not this again. And the former asset noted that, this time, he was not alone in his dismay at what Steve was trying to imply. “Steve, you can’t be seriously thinking that Strange had a hand in this,” Natasha said, curtly.

“Just meet me at the intersection, Buck,” Steve replied, sounding every bit like the commander that he was. “If Stephen doesn’t know anything, then at least we get to cross it off the list.”

Shaking his head in the dim and dingy garage, Bucky sprinted out, but instead of taking the same route he had going there, he took the other, longer way available, to double back to 6th, figuring that it would afford him more opportunities to look for clues.

And he turned out to be right.

“Guys,” Bucky murmured through the comms, ominously, not five minutes since he’d called the town car in. Kneeling on the uneven pavement by a puddle of dirty water made even murkier by something Bucky refused to think of as blood, the former HYDRA asset clearly made out what looked like nodes, six of them, just a bit bigger than earring studs. They caught Bucky’s attention because he’d seen two of these being pried out of Tony’s forearms by the genius himself during their paintball training exercise some months ago... “I found six of his suit sensors. They could only be removed by cutting them out of Tony’s body.” Bucky couldn’t keep the horror out of his voice.

“If he was taken prisoner then they sure as hell don’t want him calling the armor,” rationalized Sam.

“ _The Iron Man suit sensors actually have three main functions: send the suit to Mr. Stark when he calls; give me real-time readings of his vital signs and track his whereabouts via satellite. There’s supposed to be no bunker deep or cloaked enough to bypass the sensors—not even underground or underwater up to the threshold levels of 1.012 kilometers on the earth’s crust and close to 900 meters submerged at sea. Those, coupled with the SI satellites, have no blind spots anywhere on earth,_ ” reported FRIDAY. “ _They were designed to be fail-safe, too._ ”

“Not foolproof enough. Apparently,” Bucky murmured, fighting down a shudder. There was no fucking way Tony could’ve done this to himself just to give them the slip. This, if anything, was supposed to tell Steve that Tony was in the hands of bad people, and that he was in mortal danger. “Why couldn’t you have tracked the sensors to this place, Fry? We could’ve found the car immediately. Where I’m at now is near enough to where the town car was stowed away.”

“ _Just like his secondary subdermal tracker and the tracker integrated in his wardrobe, the Iron Man sensors have ceased to function. I can no longer detect any signal coming from them._ ”

“Thought they’re supposed to be fail-safe. How could they have been destroyed?” It was Scott who asked that time, deciding to join in on the conversation when it was more his speed, being an engineer, himself

“ _They can temporarily be disabled by applying electricity to them—_ “

“Jesus—you’re saying Tony had to be _electrocuted_?!” The horror in Sam’s voice only mirrored Bucky’s own. “So why do they have to be _cut out_ afterwards then?”

“ _Because after a minute, the secondary system kicks in, restoring everything. Unless the sensors are exposed—taken out of the skin and shorted out with an EMP. Which is why the last location I could give you based on the sensors’ signal was quite a ways from where the Boss’ phone could be picked up—_ ”

“—and some distance also from where the car was stashed,” observed Bucky. It was very… _methodical_ though. It was as if whoever had Tony in their clutches knew how to throw them off the genius’ scent. “How is that possible?” Bucky asked, after a grave-like silence descended on the comms. “That _all_ the trackers—all the _breadcrumbs_ that could have led us to where Tony is—could just be _so_ efficiently neutralized like that—like they _know_ what to look for and how to beat the system?”

More silence.

“I’m already at 6th corner Bleecker. You better be here in five minutes, Buck; we’re wasting time and we want to be able to rule a few things out before we proceed,” Steve said, breaking the silence over on the comms. “Let Peter deal with the clues you’ve found.”

Breathing another resigned sigh, Bucky rose to his feet to haul ass to where Steve would already be waiting. If Bucky—or anyone on the team, for that matter, was even half disturbed that a former amnesiac was the one asking the questions that _Steve_ should have been asking as the master tactician, no one breathed a word of it through the comms. For Bucky’s part, he knew that Steve’s judgment was kind of skewed at the moment with paranoia, and Bucky couldn’t blame him when he, himself, was sick with worry that some assholes had got Tony in their clutches, subjecting him to God knows what.

When the pair of them got to the doorstep of the otherwise nondescript building on Bleecker that was, in actuality, one of the strongholds of the power of the sorcerers, both super soldiers were nearly buzzing with tension right where they stood. It was a good thing that Strange answered the door after just three raps on the ornate knocker or Steve would’ve shouldered the damn door open with the way he was coiled like a metal spring ready to jump at the slightest provocation.

“Captain, Sergeant…” Strange looked genuinely surprised to see who his callers were. “What brings you to my humble sanctum today?”

“Where’s Tony, Stephen?” Steve asked without preamble. Uncharacteristically of him, too, he barged into the foyer of the sanctum, uninvited, and all Bucky could do was follow on his wake to make sure that whatever it was they would end up finding out, things between the two Avengers wouldn’t have to come to blows.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Captain Rogers,” coolly answered the sorcerer, unfazed that he had two super soldiers no better than cornered animals in his midst.

“He disappeared twenty hours ago and his last known location was three blocks away from here. Look, I know that you and Tony talked a few weeks ago, and I know he’s having trouble dealing with his memories from the other universe. Now I can’t be sure what he’s been planning, but he’s _gone_ without a trace, and I don’t want to have to think that you have something to do with it because you’re the _only_ person who can put him out of his misery by bringing him back to that other place,” Steve, stopping his pacing and looking squarely into Strange’s eyes, said as if challenging the other man to prove him right or prove him wrong, Bucky didn’t know anymore. All the ex-Sergeant knew was that Steve seemed on the very edge of desperate to know whether or not Tony has gone and done what he had been dreading all this time. “Is he back there, Stephen? Did he ask you to take him back?”

“The answer to both of your questions, Captain, is actually a _no_ ,” Strange plowed ahead and answered, regally crossing his arms over his chest. “While it’s true that he came to me confessing that he’s having a bit of difficulty dealing with his memories from the other universe, he didn’t ask me to take him back. I haven’t seen him since we talked last; he hasn’t been by. And without my help, I don’t think he can find his way to that other universe again, so I can reasonably say that he’s most likely not there,” confirmed the magic-wielder.

So, if Tony hasn’t engaged Strange’s help to whisk him away to another universe, then—

“Some assholes probably got to him then,” Bucky mumbled then, stepping up to stand beside his childhood friend, continued with a stony face, “I _told_ you that Tony wouldn’t abandon the Avengers like that—you shoulda believed me…” He was disappointed that they’d wasted their time interrogating Strange because of Steve’s baseless suspicions when they should be turning the damn city upside down to find any leads on Tony’s whereabouts. But now that they’ve proven that Steve’s worst fears actually haven’t come to pass, Bucky also felt somewhat relieved that Tony’s disappearance wasn’t because he’s given up on them. There is also terror mixed in, though, because this meant that the odds were suddenly in favor of the possibility that Tony was abducted by people intending to do him harm.

A peculiar look crossed Strange’s face then as he regarded the two glowering super soldiers, but it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared that Bucky didn’t know what to make of it.

“Where the hell could he be?”

“Now that one, I cannot answer for you, gentlemen,” Strange replied with a soft exhale, bringing his right hand to his face to pinch his lower lip in the stance of one in contemplative thought. There was something about the way the sorcerer’s body moved, though, that spelled that he was restless and eager to be rid of his surprise house callers at the soonest possible time.

“I hope we didn’t catch you at a bad time, Strange,” Bucky remarked, catching on to the doctor’s barely perceptible twitchiness. “But we don’t have that many leads about what mighta happened to Tony; we’re exploring possibilities and, right now, no information is too small or too unimportant.” Bucky just wanted to hammer that point in until it stuck.    

“He hasn’t mentioned anything to you when he went by your bunker to talk? Maybe, discussed some suspicions he has or…threats he was getting?...” Steve added, prompting Strange that if he knew anything— _anything_ at all, if Tony had perhaps mentioned _something_ to him—the time to tell was now.

“You didn’t catch me at a bad time, but I’m sorry to disappoint you two. He didn’t say anything of the sort during our conversation,” Strange answered, squarely meeting the two soldiers’ gazes, in turn, without a shred of evasiveness.

 _Oh he was good_ , Bucky thought, inwardly. Strange was very convincing in his assurance that he knew nothing. Only, Bucky was anything but convinced. The good doctor was too… _unruffled_ by the circumstances of Tony’s sudden disappearance to be believed. Granted, he and Steve were probably at the _opposite_ end of the spectrum with their teeth-gnashing anxiety that any other reaction compared to theirs was pretty low-key, but no one was supposed to be cucumber-cool upon hearing that a person they work and live with—though they weren’t braid-each-other’s-hair close to one another—had seemingly vanished into thin air.

“Well that’s it then—it’s gonna be a helluva long day,” Bucky growled, ensuring that his tone was tinged with resignation so as not to clue the doctor in that Bucky thought it was all a load of chicken shit. If Strange was not going to tell them what he knew, Bucky was just going to have to sniff around the place like a bloodhound to get something out of this house call. “So if you don’t mind pointing out the little boys’ room for me, doc, I’m gonna take care of personal business because I’m sure I ain’t pissin’ in any decent bathrooms for the foreseeable future while hunting Tony’s kidnappers down.”

After the sanctum’s guardian directed Bucky to where the nearest toilet was, he went half-way to it before switching his course to check out the rest of the building. It wasn’t that he suspected Strange of _hiding Tony_ there somehow, for one purpose or another, but he simply couldn’t believe that Strange didn’t know anything about what had happened to Tony.

Bucky was just starting to question the wisdom of his choices to go sleuthing around the premises of a Master of the Mystic Arts when he stumbled upon the Rotunda of Gateways. At first, Bucky didn’t think they were—well— _strange_ ; they only looked like three sliding glass doors, situated in a semi-circle and affording him a wider view of the garden beyond. Only they didn’t provide the beholder the view of the rear garden because they looked like they opened up to three different places: the one on the left featured the rolling sand dunes of an arid desert under a cloudless blue sky; the one at the center was an overcast noon in the African savanna with the occasional sprinting gazelle; and the one on the right led to the edge of a pine forest at the foot of a scraggly and hulking mountain range with what looked like a lonely wooden cabin in the distance, where it was still the wee hours of the morning, judging by the darkness of the skies that cast everything in pale starlight and shadow.

The former asset ventured towards the gateways, warily fiddling with the dials at the side of each door and even becoming so bold as to stand in front of the pine forest one, a reach away from sliding the glass door open. He was mesmerized.

It was easy to disappear to anywhere in the world from these gateways with none the wiser. If they knew where Tony was, these doorways would take them there in the blink of an eye.

If the people who had taken Tony knew such doorways existed, the genius was on his own with no way for his teammates to pick up the trail unless he could pull another miracle escape like what he did in Afghanistan…

“Where are you, Tony?” Bucky whispered to himself while stood in front of the doorway to the pine forest. What were they going to do now? How were they going to find Tony? Who would want Tony out of the picture this badly to go to such great and painstaking lengths to make sure that the brunette vanished without a trace?

And why did he have this nagging feeling that Strange knew something? Why did he have this persistent suspicion that nothing about these circumstances could be taken at face value?

Bucky didn’t find anything to indicate that Strange knew more than he was letting on; the former asset didn’t know if he was more relieved or disquieted by that. Maybe he and Steve could convince Strange to use his wizardry to locate Tony somehow? Goodness knew there was no way for them to pick up the very, very cold trail otherwise—so far, FRIDAY at base and Vision in South Africa, working together on sieving and making sense of all the clues, information and footage they had, had nothing on CCTV footage or digital trail; nothing, not even a whisper of any sightings related to Tony or the Accords or Stark Industries on social media; Tony’s trackers were all useless dead ends; and they have nothing but their collective hate for Ross to suspect that he had a hand in this because of his position on the amendments.

And in the meantime, while they were trying to figure things out, the assholes who had grabbed Tony were already probably doing unspeakable things to the genius-billionaire.

Bucky had sworn off being the weapon that he once was, but if those _motherfuckers_ touch even a hair on Tony’s van dyke, Bucky was going to make them rue the day they were born.

The ex-Sergeant was stumbling into the sanctum’s grand foyer via the other staircase and not the one he had been sent through on his quest for the bathroom, when he managed to catch the tail end of Steve’s grave-faced conversation with the sorcerer: “—worst of you, Stephen. I guess, I was just afraid and…worried that I would lose Tony when I’ve only just resolved things with him.”

“That’s all right. I understand where you’re coming from,” assured Strange with a comforting pat to Steve’s shoulder. “But there really was no reason for you to worry. Say… did you and Anthony ever get to discuss the circumstances that took him back in this dimension?”

Steve shook his head with a sad smile. “Tony always avoided any discussion about the other dimension with me even though I was concerned and kept pressing him to be more open to me about it,” he answered. “He’s only ever said that it was his choice to go back. That’s all I know.”

“He chose to go back because of _you_ , Captain,” disclosed Strange with a serene smile that was pregnant with meaning but was otherwise difficult to read. “He chose to leave behind his perfect world, his vibrant and intact family, the man he loves to go back to you because he wanted to make things right. He wanted to fix the misunderstanding between the two of you and rebuild his family. So you see, there was no reason to fear that Tony was going to escape back to the place he’d elected to leave. For better or for worse, he’s chosen this world,” finished Strange, clasping his hands behind his back.

_Tony chose Steve._

For the first time since Bucky’d suspected that Steve might feel more than just friendship for Tony, the look of gratitude and affection shining out of every pore on the blonde’s face pierced through Bucky’s gut like a lance. He suddenly felt like an intruder in the lives of the two people who meant the world to him. Because wasn’t _he_ the reason for their conflict in the first place? Wasn’t he the one with Steve now, trying their damnedest to make it work and keeping Steve from being with Tony instead? Wasn’t he the reason that Tony nobly stepped back from pursuing his own feelings for Steve—because Tony didn’t want to hurt him and damage what little of himself he was able to pull out of the rubble that was the Winter Soldier?

If he weren’t around—if he’d died in that damn train like he was supposed to, if Steve had never found out he was alive, if he had never come out of being cryo-frozen in Wakanda, who knew—maybe Tony and Steve, left to their own devices, could’ve walked the natural course of learning to trust one another, being friends, and falling in love with each other. Tony could’ve found out how Steve was such a great guy, and Steve…Steve would’ve moved on from losing Bucky and found it in his heart to fall in love again.

Instead, here they were: Tony sacrificed his own happiness for Bucky’s, thinking it was what Steve wanted; Steve was conflicted between staying with his familiar and safe first love instead of going after the man who had stolen his heart against all odds; and Bucky, who loved them both despite being so severely damaged that he didn’t expect he was still capable of love, lamented how it was possible for them to have everything they could ever want and _nothing_ , at the same time.

And Tony was still _fucking missing_ on top of that!

_Tony chose Steve. And then Steve betrayed him again by choosing Bucky… Again._

Maybe when this was all over, the three of them needed to sit down and talk and really lay every one of their cards down on the table, clear the air of any misunderstandings and misconceptions, and simply…talk straight, put it all out there. Just what it was they were supposed to achieve with that, Bucky didn’t have the faintest clue. But at least, Bucky could tell Steve how it was all right for him to love Tony, too. Because seeing Steve this…broken over the thought of losing Tony was killing Bucky inside.

He wanted Steve to be happy. He wanted _Tony_ to be happy. Was that fucking too much to ask?

“Nice place you have here, doc,” remarked Bucky, finally seeing it fit to announce his arrival. “So…what’d I miss?” He asked, looking from one man to the other as if to prompt him on any goings-on while he was snooping around the premises without the knowledge of the master of the house.

“I asked Stephen if he could use his power to get us back on Tony’s trail. All of our leads thus far are dead ends; we need to try to tackle this from another angle,” Steve said, back to form and fully in commander mode once again. There was a certain calmness to him that he might have gotten from Strange’s disclosure about Tony’s impetus for his return from the other universe.

“What—like it’s not obvious who’s really responsible for his disappearance? We should just track _Ross_ down and beat a confession outta him,” argued Bucky, getting frustrated anew that he wanted to tear his hair out by the roots and scream himself hoarse right there in the grand foyer of Strange’s magical mansion.

“Buck, we don’t know if Ross really had a hand in this. The Avengers as a team has many enemies— _Tony_ , by himself, has many enemies. We don’t want to rain hellfire down on the wrong person just because we _think_ he’s responsible,” Steve reasoned, crossly tugging at an earlobe.

Bucky was almost petulant enough to point out that _Steve_ certainly didn’t have any qualms accusing Strange of spiriting Tony away not an hour ago simply because of baseless paranoia so he didn’t see why Ross had to be treated differently, but the former Sergeant held his tongue. Now was not the time to bicker amongst themselves. Tony needed them to work together if they were ever going to have a chance to rescue the genius from wherever the hell it was those bastards were keeping him.

“And you’ll help us?” Bucky turned towards Strange, hopeful that the sorcerer can help get them back on track in the search efforts.

“I will do everything in my power to help Anthony, of course,” assured Strange. “I will be in touch with you as soon as I find anything.”

Steve was just about to thank Strange for his promised help when the comms in their ears came to life with an ominous notification. “Steve, Bucky—you better return to base ASAP. The cat’s out of the bag. SI’s had to make a statement to explain why Tony is a no-show in South Africa. Some UN reps have had to comment. Social media’s erupted with all kinds of speculation about Tony’s disappearance,” Natasha reported, her voice grave. “We need to regroup.”

-0-0-0-

With the exception of the audio-video footage playing on the television of the various statements issued in the wake of Tony Stark missing the UN meet in South Africa, the living area in the Avengers facility was eerily quiet that super soldier hearing could’ve easily picked out the sound of a pin drop.

Pepper Potts personally issued the statement, during a press conference held at the lobby of Stark Tower, in front of a horde of bloodthirsty media people. The real-time goings-on in the UN meet—where a smattering of representatives was already alert and accounted for—was patched through via video conference and projected on the big screen that was likewise set up for the purpose of the press junket. On the screen, larger than life and listening with faces seemingly set in stone, were Jim and Vision in bespoke suits with King T’Challa beside them with an equally severe expression on his face.

[—wouldn’t be able to make it to speak before the UN General Assembly today, as scheduled, to report on the accomplishments and the policy revolution on the first-year anniversary of the signing of the Sokovia Accords amendments because, as of noon yesterday, Mr. Stark has fallen out of contact with Stark Industries and The Avengers. We are doing our best to pinpoint the location of Mr. Stark—]

“Was this really necessary? I don’t think we’ve gained any great advantage here, revealing to the whole world that Tony’s gone missing,” Steve remarked, standing motionless in front of the television, his arms crossed over his broad chest. He was yet to change out of his blue Captain America under suit in the same way that the rest of the team currently in attendance were half in their official Stark-designed suits, ready to go at a moment’s notice as soon as they get wind of any potential trails they could follow based on FRIDAY’s analysis of all the leads they were able to discover.

Natasha, half-straddling the arm of the long couch, countered, “I’m sure Pepper’s thought it through. She’s also under a lot of pressure right now to pick up the slack at SI and pacify the shareholders and the Board, what with Tony missing an important product launch, missing the UN meeting where he had confirmed his attendance weeks in advance, and social media exploding with news of Tony’s disappearance. She _had_ to do major damage control.”

“But wouldn’t coming out that Tony’s gone missing affect the company even more than if we’d kept it out of the media for as long as we could?” Sam piped up from the loveseat he was currently occupying along with Scott. “If we can find Tony in the next 48 hours, nobody needs to know shit—no harm, no foul, right?”

“Can we, though, find Mr. Stark in the next 48 hours?” Peter asked, uncertain. No one deigned to answer with believable confidence. It’s been over 24 hours now since Tony’s last contact, and with him gone, it had fallen to Jim Rhodes to stand before the UN General Assembly to speak regarding the first-year of the Sokovia Accords amendments that Tony had so staunchly championed. “Because the car’s useless and the sensors are a dead end. We need to look at a more realistic time frame than 48 hours to pick up the trail and it’s probably better for us to have more eyes looking than using our resources—stretched thin as it is—to keep people in the dark about Mr. Stark’s disappearance.”

Wanda nodded once at Peter in silent agreement. “And when Tony missed the product launch last night and Rhodes and Viz where spotted arriving in South Africa without Tony, social media erupted with speculation that something had happened to him. Ms. Potts had to make a choice between putting on a strong front by coming out with a statement now, or looking less in control and doing more damage control once ransom notes start making their way to the media later on,” she contributed, reporting what Bucky was sure she had picked up from Pepper, herself, when she and Scott were assigned to liaise with SI on the matter of getting their tech support to look for Tony.

“’s true,” affirmed Scott, continuing, “They have a precedent for situations like this—when Stark was abducted and imprisoned in the caves of Afghanistan for three months. According to her, it was a huge _nightmare_ when Stark’s mentor, Stane, decided to keep everything hush hush at first. When the news of Tony’s kidnapping finally broke and when it was exposed to have been going on for so long already, the stock price crash was beyond belief. This way, since we don’t have that many leads and we don’t know for how long this will last, at the very least, we got this out early, and SI and the Avengers won’t look as incompetent as, say, if the news breaks only one month later—“

“—I dunno about you, people, but I’d sooner burn the whole damn continent myself before I let _one fucking month_ go by without getting Tony back,” practically snarled Bucky, lips curling viciously in absolute distaste.

For a while after Bucky’s unsettling outburst, silence reigned over the occupants of the living area again that the space filled with nothing but the background noise of Pepper’s prepared statement to the media, aired earlier.

[—know that he, by himself, as well as with The Avengers, has made some pretty powerful and vindictive enemies—whether from this world or outside of it, in the course of his activities in business, politics and public service, some more recent and closer to home than others—]

“I can only bet that really got _someone_ ’s hackles up pretty badly,” Clint said with an admiring whistle. He and his family were fetched quickly after news of Tony’s disappearance was disseminated to the team, in case someone meant to do them harm by abducting them, or their loved ones, one by one—starting with Tony—as some kind of leverage intended to put them in line or teach them a lesson. “She might as well have spelled out Thunderbolt Ross’ name.”

“Oh, conventional media and social media picked that up pretty quickly,” Natasha commented with an ambiguous smirk. “Unfortunately for Ross, with Tony’s disappearance being pinned on him, his dirty laundry is being washed in public for all the world to see. Ross will have to come out from the rock he’s been hiding under or suffer some kind of trial by publicity. He can do that of his own accord or be outed by the media. Either way, the time looking for him and trying to guess where he’ll be next has come to an end.”

[—Industries and The Avengers will appreciate any information you may have in aid of bringing Mr. Stark home and out of harm’s way. We’re preparing a reward package for anyone with useful information to supplement the leads we have gathered so far. We hope to have the media’s help, as well as that of the public at large to, this time, _be the hero_ —in the same way that Iron Man has been to all of us. Thank you all for your time—]

The footage cut off to show reactions elicited from Tony’s allies in politics, both local and international. T’Challa expressed his immense displeasure at the simply dishonorable methods of spiriting Tony away to keep him away from the good he’s been tirelessly doing this past year: pushing for the Sokovia Accords amendments, getting The Avengers pardoned and reunited, advocating for the exoneration and spearheading the rehabilitation of one former Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, and still occasionally saving the world as Iron Man—even to the point of again endangering his life. The President of the United States and some UN representatives, who knew Tony personally, and even those who don’t, like the UN Secretary-General, but have had the opportunity to work with him on hashing out the amendments, expressed their regret at the news that the genius-billionaire has disappeared very mysteriously, and their censure that parties found to be responsible for this forced disappearance would be prosecuted and dealt with to the full extent of the law.

The barrage of commentary footage was again cut off to make way for another live press conference. And when former Secretary of State, General Thaddeus Ross’ face appeared on-screen, everyone in the living area shifted where they sat or stood to be closer to the TV so as not to miss one syllable out of the man they were suspecting to be responsible for Tony’s sudden and mysterious disappearance—the man they’ve been trying to pin down these past couple of months for his suspected involvement in sometimes-violent unrests on the occasion of the amendments’ ratification in some countries.

[—issuing this statement to let the world know that I am categorically denying any involvement in Tony Stark’s disappearance. I’ve been keeping my head down since leaving the State Department, opting to stay out of the public eye and relaxing in my fishing cabin here in Oregon, that while I’ve made no secret in my displeasure and disagreement to the amendments to the Sokovia Accords that the United States has decided to support, I have no intention to tarnish the reputation and good name that I’ve spent my whole life building by making that displeasure personal and going so far as abducting Stark. I am condemning the insinuations and direct accusations being thrown my way and would like to inform my supporters and detractors alike, once and for all, that I am not involved, in any way, in Tony Stark’s—]

“—that lying _sonofabitch_ ,” Bucky growled, closing his hands into fists on his sides. He wanted to reach out through the damn television and strangle the bastard right where he sat. “’s nothing but a load o’chicken shit!”

[—coming out in social media is nothing but _fake news_. I do not have a vendetta against Enhanced individuals and championing the Sokovia Accords is nothing personal, but only an advocacy to have these powerful individuals accountable for any misuse of their capabilities. My association with Doctor Bruce Banner was only brought about by working on the same research team during my time in the military, and trying to get him back into custody so as not to put the public in harm’s way should he lose control of the creature he has misguidedly created by knowingly disobeying well-placed research and experimentation protocols. That was _nothing personal_. The Abomination that attacked Harlem over ten years ago—]

“Strange that _social media_ is picking up on those kinds of information,” observed Natasha with narrowed eyes. “I don’t think they have been de-classified yet. And the SHIELD dump that I did would be too voluminous—not to mention, heavily encrypted—for anyone to pick up on any particular information about Bruce, Ross and the attack of the Abomination in Harlem…unless they were _looking_ for that particular information,” she said, continuing, “FRIDAY, you still keeping tabs on huge data dumps pertaining to the Avengers and any potential Enhanced?”

“ _Some POI’s we’ve tagged in the past are back on the radar—using their poorly cloaked digital signatures and utilizing the same data worms. The Pentagon’s servers are currently down. So are the State Department’s. Hacking activities and data dumps are on the rise since the announcement of Mr. Stark’s disappearance. My protocols say these are mostly harmless and non-threatening to national or world security, intended only to disseminate past information and to try to access obscure CCTVs, traffic cameras and ATM cameras,_ ” reported FRIDAY.

“Well, it’s safe to say that someone wants that SI reward package for any useful information about Tony’s location,” Sam observed, hunching in on himself by planting his elbows on his knees while still sat beside Scott.

[—that’s why it surprised me that I would be suspected of having a hand in Stark’s forced disappearance when I don’t have the same political clout or influence among my peers that I used to have. And besides, we couldn’t possibly have such short memories to have already forgotten how Tony Stark is an unapologetic and prodigious playboy, with a propensity to disappear on occasion to party on a yacht in the middle of nowhere when it suited him. Maybe we should first make sure that all the Playboy bunnies are accounted for before we start pointing fingers and throwing such words as ‘abduction’ around, huh?—]

If Ross was aiming for innocently amusing, he overshot the mark quite a bit because not one of the media people attending made any sound of amusement. There _was_ mild buzzing but no one seemed the least bit amused.

Bucky had never wanted to kill someone with his bare hands more than he did now. If he had been in the business of offing people for a fee, he’d have happily murdered Thaddeus Ross for free.

“I’d happily shoot an arrow between this asshole’s eyes—nasty motherfucker,” Clint commented with a disbelieving shake of his head and an unamused chuckle. “How you and Tony could have stomached working with him, I will never understand,” he plowed on, turning towards Natasha.

“For reasons,” was Natasha’s only reply. “FRIDAY, keep an eye on those POIs and monitor the data dumps and the sources’ locations for me, would you?”

Steve turned to look at her meaningfully before awarding the television his unadulterated attention again.

After another round of reruns of all the press junkets, statements and reactions relating to Tony’s disappearance, the team decided to regroup. Scott, Sam and Wanda went back to lurking at SI to mooch off of Tony’s company’s own internal investigation of what could’ve happened to the genius-billionaire; they were due to sit in on some of the employees and consultants being called in for questioning. Peter had some classes to catch and then he would patrol the city in the afternoon and well into the night to try to pick up on street gossip or anything the local gangs might know. Natasha and Clint were going to touch base with their old contacts in intelligence to try to see if the spy network knew anything useful. Jim and Vision were due back from South Africa in the early evening, bearing T’Challa’s promises of help, and they would be able to help Steve and Bucky look in on some social media-provided leads by weeding out the hoaxes from those with actual potential, worthy of further follow up.

And for the next 48 hours, it was more of the same. Sometimes, they switched and mixed it up. Sometimes, the leads the public provided had real promise until they, too, panned out into nothing, into dead ends.

But the information kept coming, and the exposés about Ross’ shadier dealings in the past as a General in the US Armed Forces and, later, as the Secretary of State kept inundating the internet and social media. The data dumps that Natasha had asked FRIDAY to take note of kept coming also from virtually _everywhere_ —Senegal, the Philippines, India, China, Iceland, Russia, Cayman Islands, Cuba. POIs were practically resurfacing out of the woodwork.

All the while, Bucky got even more sick with worry that Tony was still beyond their help. It was also possible that the more Ross’ image was getting dirtied in the public eye, the more he was taking it out on the one person within his clutches, and Bucky was slowly losing his mind thinking about it.

His reinforcement sessions took a backseat since he, Wanda and Natasha were all occupied with more pressing concerns, but he didn’t mind.

The team’s first priority was to find Tony, and no lead or clue or potential information was insignificant—they followed up on everything they could get their hands on, but they were no closer to Tony now than on the day that he’d disappeared.

On the fifth night since Tony’d gone missing, Bucky, like the four nights previously, gravitated towards the Command Center, pawing through a tablet and looking at footage of Tony’s activities for the 48 hours leading up to his disappearance.

Bucky thought that Tony might have just discovered something so monumental, which triggered the perps into abducting him to get him out of the way and silence whatever he might have found out. All Bucky’d been able to discover was that Tony liked playing loud music while taking long showers in his penthouse bathroom—there was no footage from within the bathroom itself to his utmost disappointment, but it was a good bit of trivia to know. Tony also liked making snack runs using the vintage town car at ungodly hours of the night. Tony had also taken to wondering about the goings-on in the Avengers facility and the Tower while he was in the three-month-long coma, so much so that he’d asked FRIDAY to compile footage from the security camera with a view of his sick bed into a password-protected cloud drive, which he’d never accessed afterwards. There was also that rare time that Tony went to withdraw cash from an ATM in the dead of night—the footage from the ATM camera was grainy but it was clearly Tony—then he’d returned to the Tower, took another long bath and slept for two hours until it was time to meet with the SI Legal team at practically the ass-crack of dawn. He’d taken apart and put back together a total of four kitchen equipment and completely trashed two during the time he’d spent in the Tower leading up to the day he’d disappeared.

Everything was routine and painfully domestic.

Seeing Tony like that made Bucky miss him more and made Bucky worry more if he was all right wherever it was his asshole-kidnappers were keeping him.

Bucky hardly noticed that he was already in the Command Center until he was there, staring at Steve, who was looking at footage of Tony, too, on the huge Command Center’s screen. It seemed he and Steve, again, got the same idea that they could glean something from Tony’s activities leading up to and until his disappearance. Like Bucky, Steve, too, has been spending an inordinate amount of time in the Command Center, even taking the graveyard shift just to keep eyes and ears on things. As if, somehow, those things would bring them just a bit closer to Tony’s whereabouts.

“So, I guess if we can’t sleep together, we might as well keep an eye on things together, right?” Bucky remarked, going for mildly amused and, for the most part, nailing it when Steve smiled with a tinge of sadness in his blue eyes.

“I can’t sleep, knowing that I should be doing more—I should be out there, turning the place upside down, looking for him,” answered Steve. “And I thought the waiting game while he was in that coma was grueling. That was _nothing_ —nothing compared to _this_. At least then, he was right in front of me, and I knew no one could harm him.”

Silence.

“I’m sorry, Buck.”

“For what?”

“I think I’m… I think I might be in love with Tony, too,” he confessed, voice barely audible in the background noise of the Command Center monitors. “I’m sorry for betraying you. I really wanted to try with you, Bucky— _I still do_. But Tony… Tony’s… I can’t stop thinking about Tony. I thought the pain of losing you on the train was the worst I’d ever feel, that there was nothing as painful as or more painful than that, but when I thought I’d lost him to the other dimension, the pain was just as devastating. A part of me didn’t want to feel it, because it was like a betrayal to you, but it was there—begging to be felt. And then a part of me _wanted_ to feel it, too. Because Tony… Tony made me feel something when I thought losing you would never make me feel anything, ever again.”

It pained Bucky to have to hear it. That there was another that had taken residence in Steve’s heart. But it wasn’t as if Steve was the only resident in Bucky’s heart as well. Tony was there, too. Tony would _always_ be there. Maybe they needed this, the two of them. The two of them needed to come to terms with what they truly felt. For each other and for another man they both found themselves in love with.

“Don’t apologize,” Bucky said, “there’s nothing to be sorry for. I knew— _I know_ —how you feel about Tony. It’s even possible that I knew before you, yourself, did. It’s ‘cause _I know you_ , Stevie. I know every twinkle of your eye, the meaning behind every variation of your smile, what hides between every word you say… I knew you loved him. But what I should’ve told you was that _it’s all right_. It’s all right that you do. I love you so much, Stevie.”

Steve bit his lips between his teeth and hung his head, hiding his eyes in shadow.

“And if _Tony_ is the one you want to be with—“

“No!” Steve vehemently denied, looking at Bucky, eyes shining with unshed tears. “I… I don’t know… I don’t want to lose you, Bucky. I want to be with you. My whole life, to be with you was all I’ve ever wanted—“

“—but Tony—“

“Tony is… I will die if I lose Tony,” said Steve without reservations. “And I know I can’t have you both. Because that would be greedy and selfish of me, and I’ve never been greedy all my life. But _God_ — _I want to be_ … For once in my life—for possibly the only time in my life, can’t I have what I _fucking_ want? Just this once?” And the tremor in Steve’s voice was enough to break Bucky’s heart.

 _Why_ couldn’t they have what they want? Why couldn’t they?

“Tony is still out there; he’s probably thinking he’s alone and we can’t be bothered in our lives to look for him. While I’m sitting here, feeling useless. And I tried to avoid him before he went missing. _I avoided him_ , Bucky.” A lone tear finally escaped the floodgates of Steve’s self-imposed promise not to show any kind of weakness and rolled down the blonde’s cheek that had gone a bit pallid these past few days. “I keep hurting him, as I keep hurting _you_. What kind of love is that?”

Bucky quickly dropped his tablet on the closet seat, went towards the other man and seized his head into a tight embrace. Bucky hunched to prop his chin on the crown of Steve’s head while the latter pressed his face to Bucky’s abdomen, arms encircling hips.

“Nobody is perfect,” Bucky murmured through Steve’s hair. “Love born out of imperfection is still love.”

A beat.

“My timing sucks, though, right?”

Bucky chuckled. “You might not have realized if this hadn’t happened. It’s always the prospect of losing someone that makes us realize just how much it would kill us if we did.”

“We have to find him, Bucky. I have to tell him that I—“

_That you love him._

“We will, Stevie. We will.”


	38. 38. TONY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find out what really happened with Tony, and he has some realizations of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's another fantastic Friday and I am looking at another promising three-day weekend (It's a holiday on Monday where I'm from)!!! And we have another update. ^_^
> 
> I must say looking at your conjectures in the last chapter's comments impressed me. Some of you had good ideas and some came really, really (and I mean REALLY) close to what really happened to Tony; my kudos y'all!!! And my thanks for your continued support to this story. Your Kudos and Comments make my life complete. I didn't even realize but I've actually been writing this story for over a year now, and it's been a very fulfilling year, meeting and discussing with all of you. Only two (2) chapters left to write and post--it won't be long now before we're all put out of our misery. ^_^
> 
> Same drill y'all--Kudos and Comments = (heart); if you spot typos, SPaG issues and inconsistencies, please let me know. 
> 
> Chat conversation in _italics_  
>  Video footage dialogue in [brackets]  
> Book quotes read during video footage in [ _"italics within brackets"_ ] which, incidentally, was taken from _Eleven Minutes_ by Paulo Coelho.
> 
> ENJOY this (another long) chapter and your weekend, my lovely friends and I will see you next time! emeraldine087 out (for now)!!!  
> \---

Tipping the bill of his commonplace gray cap lower to make sure that it actually covered half his face, an equally unremarkable man, clean-shaven with eyes behind black frame glasses and nose thrown in shadow, hunched in on himself in front of a terminal in the empty computer shop.

He wasn’t expecting that there'd be some kind of security camera surveilling the place. After all, he was probably in the remotest area of British Columbia, so much so that the computer monitors were of the bulky make and model, with not even one sleek LCD display in sight in the whole damn shop. How this place even passed for a _computer shop_ was beyond him. But it should still serve his purposes well, so he supposed he had no business bitching about the place and the available equipment.

When he was certain that no one was around to recognize him, chastise him or squeal on what he was about to do, he awarded the screen his full attention again and accessed the command prompt on the terminal. With fingers flying over the clackety keyboard, he keyed in long sequences of commands that would’ve looked like complete gibberish to someone else, when in point of fact, it was meant to open a backdoor access to a server so secure that it would shame even the Pentagon itself.

Tony Stark had already been missing for 96 hours. It was time to make contact if the next phase of the carefully-devised plan was to be executed without a hitch and without unduly tripping any superhero alarms. Looking around surreptitiously one last time, the man shifted closer to the computer terminal and hit ENTER. The long sequence of codes flashed quickly—ever-changing lines upon lines of white characters in a sea of black until it stopped and only dots flashed on the screen into an ellipsis, indicating that he’s finally made contact and encrypted communication was commencing. He typed:

 

_strk:\unohuiam >> miss me, my sweet?_

_strk:\fri >> why the disappearing act, boss? Everyone’s been worried about you._

Tony Stark’s greatest advantage was also probably his biggest constraint:

That he _was_ Tony _fucking_ Stark.

Sure, a lot of things could be done, a lot of doors opened, elbows rubbed and favors owed because he was Tony Stark but he didn’t have the luxury of being _invisible_. Elusive. Like smoke.

And that was what he needed to be if he wanted to beat Thaddeus Ross at his own game and get the asshole off The Avengers’ and the Sokovia Accords’ case once and for all. This time, pomp and theatrics ala-Tony Stark wasn’t going to work; if he was going to smoke Ross out, he needed to be cunning and what he was planning needed to be clean, untraceable. Without any ties to him, his company and everyone who depended on it, and the rest of the team.

Tony’s opponent still had a lot of connections, both legit and shady, civilian and military. Tony could do the same—rely on his own connections and wait to see whose connections beat whom. But, in the meantime, who was going to be caught in the crossfire but the citizens of the ratifying countries where Ross was still planning to incite unrest? Tony refused to take that sitting down. He had to find Ross and stop him. If he had to do that himself while staying under the radar, using resources that wouldn’t exactly pass legal muster, then so be it.

 

_strk:\unohuiam >> it’s all part of my plan. Don’t worry. I’m safe._

_strk:\fri >> need me to do something?_

_strk:\unohuiam >> need you to look the other way. Don’t try to stop what’s about to happen._

_strk:\fri >> something to do with Ross and the rise in hacking incidences?_

_strk:\unohuiam >> you’ll know it when you see it._

_strk:\unohuiam >> don’t alert the others. It’s imperative that they don’t have a heads-up._

_strk:\fri >> affirmative. When are you coming back?_

_strk:\unohuiam >> when it’s all over. Man the fort for me itm._

_strk:\fri >> when you come back, I’m going to want to hear how you gave us all the slip._

_strk:\unohuiam >> a man’s gotta have secrets even from his best girl. _

_strk:\unohuiam >> I won’t be able to contact you again until later. Miss you tho._

_strk:\fri >> me too boss. Stay safe or Ms. Potts will have your head._

_strk:\unohuiam >> sure thing. I’m enjoying current news tho._

It _really_ was quite enjoyable. The drama of it all with Avengers sympathizers calling for some kind of investigation on Ross in connection with Tony Stark’s disappearance. The general mayhem of the billionaire’s sudden disappearance on the eve of the Sokovia Accords amendments’ first year anniversary commemoration in South Africa where he’d confirmed to deliver a speech. The revelations of Ross’ shady dealings both as an Armed Forces general and the Secretary of State, one after another, in social and conventional media. No one could have orchestrated a better display than this. It was loads better than most reality shows! And to think, the pièce de résistance hasn’t even been unleashed yet.

Tony Stark, in disguise, quickly exited the secure communication to pull a quick hack into a supposedly encrypted and heavily-protected government network and got in in under two minutes, piggybacking on the digital identity of another one of the Avengers’ persons-of-interest, as he had been doing since he’d ‘disappeared’. Good to know that he hasn’t lost his touch despite years of dependence on his user interface programs…

Keying in yet another long sequence of codes from memory, which he had written from scratch, way back in his MIT days, Tony summoned a multi-headed computer worm—coincidentally, a ‘hydra’—that he’d hidden in the bowels of the network. He planned to program his hydra with the modified version of Zola’s algorithm, which he was able to decrypt from the Project Insight data dump, with the full intention of unleashing it in a massive data exfiltration in multiple host systems—governments, private servers of criminal organizations and law-abiding citizens and corporations alike, social media sites, email providers, cloud storages, file sharing systems, and then some—all at the same time, and with the sole purpose of getting him proof that Ross had something to do with the ‘terrorist attacks’ in the countries ratifying the Sokovia Accords amendments.

The seeds of the plan first came to him while sat in Stephen Strange’s bat cave-like bunker in the facility, drinking his weight in jasmine and chamomile tea. It was while he was casually looking at the magical relics encased in glass enclosures and scattered around the vast room. It was while Strange, noticing Tony’s interest in the artifacts, was explaining that the relics, either created by sorcerers past or used by them, were imbued with the remnants of their magic, that it had occurred to Tony:

Magic, like technology and— _everything else_ , really—leaves _traces_. That no matter how deeply or thoroughly someone were to try to hide or destroy something, they couldn’t ever be completely or truly gone without a trace. It was just an issue of knowing where to start looking and having someone know enough about it to identify which data was relevant and which was not. Strange, and the sorcerers before him, knew magic enough to have been able to find and gather these magical relics…

As for Tony… what _did_ Tony know? Tony knew technology—that digital information uploaded somewhere or shared with someone, always left a footprint and, no matter how protected, could be accessed. Tony also knew that SHIELD knew espionage, that Fury was one paranoid motherfucker who kept his eye on everyone worth keeping an eye on, and currently, all of SHIELD’s data was conveniently available in the internet, care of Black Widow, including the Project Insight data—and even _HYDRA’s_ —as proved by Colonel Zemo’s little research and decryption project last year; Tony also knew that no one knew Ross better than Bruce Banner and that before Bruce laid roots down in Stark Tower, the good doctor called one other place home—the place where he claimed to have been able to train himself a bit and understand the terrifying power he suddenly had within him, using the research data he had taken from the Armed Forces and subsequently retrieved from Culver University.

It was as if Tony’s brain started to flood with light, like daybreak after a long and particularly dark night. He had an idea, and it was brilliant. But if it was going to work, he needed _Strange_ ’s help. “If you don’t want to help me wipe my memories of the other universe, maybe there’s _something else_ you can help me with…” Tony trailed off, not without an air of mystery.

Strange raised an imperious eyebrow questioningly.

“I’m not a big fan of magic,” Tony continued, slightly chewing the inside of his mouth. “Now, more than ever before,” he said with a slight chortle, “but I’m at the end of my rope with Ross. I need to find him. I need to stop him, and desperate times call for desperate measures.”

Cocking his head to one side, Strange then asked, “what do you need me to do?”

“I need you to make me disappear.”

They started on the bare bones of the plan then, but Tony admitted to Strange that he still needed a bit more time to make some preparations and iron out some kinks. Though the general plan was there, Tony asked his magic-wielding teammate to give him a couple more weeks, and that if they should meet again to map out an airtight plan, it ought to be in the city—way beyond the team’s or his AI’s reach.

Finding the dirt on Ross was easy—he knew for a fact that Bruce stashed away some invaluable information in his old, isolated cabin in Bella Coola, British Columbia pertinent to Ross’ shady operations during the whole Hulk, Abomination and Harlem affair. He knew that the SHIELD data dump had a bit more information that Ross would give his left nut to keep out of the media and the public; it was just a matter of filtering the data Tony wanted. He knew about the many, many persons-of-interest—hackers and data thieves, low-lifes, really—that the Avengers and FRIDAY liked to keep tabs on; he could use their identity, piggy-back on their VPNs to be able to unload the data he could find to the correct channels without anyone getting clued in that there was some kind of vendetta against Ross that was going on, but that there was only an unofficial race to find information on Tony Stark. (Pepper’s subsequent offer of a reward package for any information was a nice touch to explain away the rise in hacking activities and data dumps on suspected perps.)

What Tony still needed to figure out at that time was how to extract the data traces he knew was somewhere in the ethers out there about Ross’ involvement in the recent ‘terrorist attacks’, and it wasn’t until a couple of weeks later, while talking Bucky’s ear off about the Avengers’ facility’s tech, that Tony realized what he could use: _Arnim Zola’s algorithm_. That was also conveniently included in the massive SHIELD data dump; Tony just had to tweak it a bit to suit his requirement of finding the additional ditty on Ross and he was in fucking business!

When Tony subsequently left the facility, it was the signal to Strange that their plan was underway. As they had discussed, they were supposed to meet in the dead of night in the city, in the cover of darkness, halfway between the Tower and the Sanctum, in case a huge manhunt would be called for after Tony will have skipped out and the team decided to get wise and re-trace his steps up to and leading to his sudden disappearance. He didn’t want Strange dragged into it as an accomplice; he didn’t want FRIDAY, the team or Pepper and SI clued in, at least until the plan was well underway. If he was going to pull off this trick successfully, nothing should be traceable to Tony Stark or his underhanded machinations. Otherwise, it would be easy for Ross to claim that Tony and Avengers were just out to discredit him for being a threat to the Avengers’ current way of life. For all intents and purposes, Tony Stark had been taken out of the picture by parties unknown, and while he was indisposed, Ross had his ass handed to him through strategically-dispersed information that would—hopefully—get him his very own cell in The Raft for the rest of his pathetic life, if the Avengers were lucky.

So, Tony had modified what equipment he needed in the relative seclusion of his security camera-free penthouse bathroom, smuggling bits and pieces of electronics from his Tower workshop to stash in his baggy clothes that the security feed would have trouble picking up on. He completely took apart some household appliance with a view to upgrading it, only to trash a couple of it to scavenge parts for the gear necessary for his disappearing act. He ended up making a portable defibrillator-EMP that can double as a weapon inspired by the Widow’s Bite in case he happened upon persons out to truly do him harm and abduct him for real, a crude but hardy smartwatch, a Photostatic veil for purposes of disguise, a hack-any-computer flash drive, and a repurposed, AI-free, virtually untraceable, StarkTab that was beefed up with heavily-encrypted programs that he’d thought he might need on the road.

He had used his midnight snack runs to hoard cash, odds and ends and some clothes from street corner shysters that he then stashed in a pack in the trunk of his vintage town car which was— _again_ —FRIDAY-free.

But while he devoted all his free time to planning and preparing for his solo flight, he didn’t skimp on the time spent for his legitimate activities in the Tower either. He wanted the security footage recording these last few days to be above suspicion; he didn’t dare alter or erase not even one second of the footage in case paranoid spies like Nat or omniscient androids like Vision were to review the recordings to try to trace his last known activities that might lead to his whereabouts. So, to maintain everything on the up and up, Tony still did everything that was expected of him like fucking clockwork: preparing for product launch, meeting with SI Legal for the report packet that they intend to deliver in the UN meeting in South Africa, tinkering on pending projects in his workshop and heeding Strange’s advice to check out the footage of the security cams while he was out in that three-month-long coma.

Although that last activity, he’d had to psych himself up big time before he could commence to ask FRIDAY to download the footage for him. Downloading it was one thing, but _watching_ it was quite another. Tony didn’t know what he was expecting to see, so he held back on watching the footage but only stored it for access later on. _Much_ later on. Or maybe _never_ , he didn’t know. He certainly couldn’t let Strange’s advice command his thoughts because there were far more important things to deal with.

After re-coding his hydra with calculated haste, Tony set it loose on the various supposedly secure networks to extract the necessary information to implicate Ross in the ‘terrorist attacks’ and get him off their backs for good.

While waiting for confirmation that his hydra was off to do his bidding, Tony palmed his clean-shaven chin thoughtfully, not quite used to the feel of smooth skin instead of his van dyke. Sacrificing his trademark look, making his family believe the worst, and the minor self-mutilation, all in the name of seeing a successful plan through to the very end, were probably the most distasteful aspects of the job.

Sixteen hours into his ‘invisibility’ had made him realize that he didn’t like wearing the Photostatic veil all that much to keep himself in disguise by wearing a different face. The thing itched and it drove him insane that he couldn’t scratch at his skin whenever he had the thing on, so after checking in to spend his first night as an unremarkable nobody at his first motel, Tony, armed with a razor in front of the grimy mirror in his small en suite bathroom, had viciously shaved his van dyke with sure strokes before he could lose his resolve. At least, the sacrifice would make him less recognizable without having to wear the damn Photostatic veil all the time.

Losing his trademark look was not the only thing causing him discomfort of late. The series of wounds on the insides of his forearms where he’d had to dig out the suit sensors, one after another, with a Swiss knife were just only starting to scab over and itch like hell, too. So much so, that he’d taken to wearing nondescript long-sleeved shirts to hide them from the nosy glances of others. But like his van dyke, they were necessary sacrifices all in the name of bringing Ross the fuck down.

He’d had to time everything and do everything deliberately to ensure that his very efficient and self-learning AI would not pick up on his plan to vanish into thin air. He’d had to first make quick work of his secondary sensors stitched into his clothing, embedded in his shoe and implanted in the crook of his arm behind his elbow. He, himself, figured that the secondary sensors would only come into play if any of his primary sensors were compromised, so the back-ups needed to be disposed of first if he wanted to stay out of FRIDAY’s radar for as long as possible. While driving the town car, he ditched his shoes and changed out of his expensive clothing at the first back alley with a trash bin that he could find. He kept nothing—not the socks, not the underwear. Next to go was his Starkphone, which he threw out of his speeding car towards an alley. He knew the phone was hardy enough to keep transmitting a signal that wouldn’t make FRIDAY suspicious as yet. After all, he’s been known to misplace or accidentally trash prototype phones on occasion.

Calculatedly, it was his AI-accessible smartwatch that was next to go in yet another obscure back alley; he shorted it out with his portable defibrillator before smashing it into pieces with the heel of his sneakers for good measure.

He ditched the town car next in a condemned building, careful to wipe all traces of his or anybody’s fingerprints on the surfaces, hesitating for a crucial couple of minutes. He deliberately bungled up on some of the things he had to do to eradicate his tracks, wanting to leave just enough to, hopefully, plant seeds of doubt in some of his teammates’ minds regarding his whereabouts. He never wanted them to think he was in any harm. He only hoped he could somehow send them a subliminal message that he was safe and that they need not worry. Maybe Peter, Vision or Nat could pick up on the inconsistencies…

He cut it close, knowing that he was supposed to do all this in the course of less than an hour before he was to meet his ride.

On his third back alley, he bit down hard on a leather strap while he ran a strong current down his arms to take out the primary system of his suit sensors. Knowing that he didn’t have long before the back-up system went online, Tony whipped out his Swiss knife and hacked all the sensors out of his forearms. He then triggered the one-off EMP on his portable equipment, rendering the things useless before dumping the bloodied lot of them in a grimy puddle two alleys over. No sooner had he done that when a circular portal of gold energy opened up before him and out came Doctor Strange to take him to the Sanctum, without any CCTV cameras in the main thoroughfares catching sight of him. Once in the Sanctum, he made use of the Rotunda of Gateways for the next leg of his plan.

Tony knew that FRIDAY, as per the protocol that he himself had written, would report loss of contact with him within six hours. By then, he was already supposed to be safely hidden in Bella Coola, British Columbia, preparing to set the internet ablaze with speculations about Tony Stark’s disappearance and shocking revelations about Thaddeus Ross.

It was all such _high drama_!

Having just unleashed his data worm on a 12-hour time-delay mechanism, Tony quickly exited the command prompt just as the person who was supposed to watch the shop ducked back in to man the front desk. In 12 hours, the data worm will have anonymously delivered everything it had found on Ross’ terrorist connection to all the vital media outfits all over the globe, local and international investigative journalists, Interpol, CIA, FBI, MI5 and other world intelligence agencies. For the time being, he was supposed to go back to Bruce’s cabin for Strange to fetch him and enable one more Gateway hop to another relatively obscure island-republic or territory to hide away in while the public crucified Ross, thereby putting a stop to any of his future plans to show the Avengers up and threaten the foundations of the Sokovia Accords amendments.

Paying for the use of the computer terminal in exact change, Tony ducked out of the shop quickly and wordlessly. He looked forward to this time in a few days when, with hope, he would have already dealt with the problem and he could already go home without the threat of Ross hanging over The Avengers’ heads.

-0-0-0-

The waiting game was driving Tony nuts, and there was absolutely nothing to do but stew in the heat of his more recent life choices.

He’d left Bella Coola to take one more jump using the Rotunda of Gateways with Strange’s help, and he was now in the beautiful island-republic of Tuvalu where he was planning on staying until the climax of the information explosion on Ross. For the time being, though, there was nothing for him to do but appreciate the peace, quiet and beauty of the place while stuffing himself with soda and sandwiches on the rooftop of the building where he decided to book a room which he’d paid on a daily basis. He wasn’t expecting to stay for more than a couple of days. After that, he was going to find a way to cross the breadth of the Pacific to Hawaii. He was itching for another vacation.

Tony supposed he could stop putting off the inevitable and just whip out his repurposed tablet to access the footage during his coma that he’d seen fit to store in a cloud drive until he’d have summoned the gumption to look at it. He didn’t know what he was hesitating for; what _was_ he expecting to find anyway—confirmation that he made the right choice to leave the perfect other universe for this one; or that he was barking for not persuading Strange to spirit him back there or erase his memories when he had the chance?

Fidgeting where he sat, Tony folded, unfolded and refolded his legs in front of him. He tapped the tablet against his thigh, pursing his lips in thought, while in the other hand, he had a half-empty bottle of perspiring soda.

He’d wanted to ask FRIDAY about how the team was—well, about _two_ people from the team in particular, at least. He didn’t want to get his hopes up too much that _they_ would be the least bit concerned about what might have happened to him though a part of him couldn’t help but hope.

Tony thought that Bucky might be a tad concerned—after all, he was with Bucky before he left for the Tower, promising that he would be back after a short stint, only he never did. Steve, on the other hand, probably couldn’t be bothered to care, apart from feeling mild consternation that, once again, their collective lives were put on the spotlight because Tony’d somehow managed to cause such an uproar. Like a full-pledged diva.

It still smarted somewhat that, before Tony’d left, Steve seemed hell-bent on avoiding him. And yes, Tony _did_ notice even though he could be an oblivious ass-clown sometimes. It was hard _not_ to notice when Steve just abruptly stopped going to the workshop, chatting with him, eating lunch with him at SHIELD HQ, or even _looking_ at him, really.

Numerous times, Tony wanted to call Steve out on it—he fought with himself whether to be coolly sarcastic or teasingly casual about the whole deal. But he always managed to tamp down on the urge, thinking it was too much effort for something Tony already knew the reason for, anyway: it couldn’t be about anything else but _Bucky_ for of course, Steve Rogers would be the jealous type, and the Captain didn’t think too highly of Tony’s familiar relationship with his current beau, especially knowing what said beau used to feel for the genius-billionaire. Steve was none too pleased with Tony, and avoiding him was Steve’s preferred way to express that annoyance.

Tony would be lying if he said the cold shoulder treatment didn’t hurt because it fucking did. He’d thought he and Steve were supposed to be way past all that. That they’d already settled their differences, learned from their mistakes and were all the better friends for it, but Tony was wrong.

The genius supposed it doubly hurt because of his own pretty fucked-up feelings for Steve also. He’d known what it felt like to be the center of Steve’s attention when they went kite-flying in Central Park that to be relegated to the blonde’s absolute shit-list only a few days after that, just about eviscerated Tony—

Perhaps it was for the best that he’d decided to pull this disappearing act at this time. He should really start using this golden opportunity to find himself. To find himself _again_ in this life—and this universe—he had chosen.

And accept that there were just some things that Tony Stark was not meant to have. Not this time. Not in this universe.

Breathing a pregnant sigh, Tony quit fidgeting with his tablet, half-resolved that there was nothing in the camera feeds during his coma that he needed to see. But not ten minutes later, he found himself staring at the plain screensaver of his tablet again. If he didn’t see with his own eyes now what the fuck Strange had gone on about, he would always be curious, and it would probably always eat at him inside.

“Fuck it—what the hell,” Tony muttered, swiping at the screen of his tab and keying in the complicated set of codes that would temporarily unprotect the device long enough to access the cloud drive and download the video files, decrypt the files and save them in the tab’s hard drive before locking the device again from any external detection or trace. It took him all of six minutes. And with FRIDAY conveniently looking the other way, he doubted anyone on Command Center could have picked up on the legitimate access of Tony Stark’s personal cloud drive using a strange digital signature located in Tuvalu.

Sorting the video files to enable him to view chronologically, Tony clicked on the earliest file and shifted to a more comfortable position to watch the life he’d missed while he slept.

Almost all of the videos with the earliest time stamps featured the team that had stayed behind with him—Vision and Rhodey. Rhodey looked stony-faced but stalwart in his vigil during the day, day-after-day, that sometimes continued on well into the night. Tony’s best friend ate his meals and did the basic therapy of his legs at Tony’s bedside. Most of the time, Rhodey held one-sided conversations with the comatose man, telling him about the developments on the amendments that the SI Legal Team had taken it upon themselves to continue in Tony’s stead.

Vision took over watching over Tony most nights except when there was critical surveillance to be done on Avengers business which the android then watched in the Command Center. Unlike Rhodey though, Vision never held one-sided conversations with Tony, preferring only to play soothing classical music or read poetry to their patient in that throaty voice and cadence so very much like JARVIS’. Vision perhaps thought that it would help Tony—ground him, somehow—to hear JARVIS’ voice. Watching it after the fact, though, definitely warmed Tony’s heart and convinced him that it _did_ help to hear JARVIS as he traversed the sea of unconsciousness. It made him think there was something worth coming back to—or the _memories_ of that something, if nothing else.

Some days, Peter was there by his bedside, too. The kid studied by reading his textbooks and notes out loud for their mutual benefit. Peter liked using him as a silent sounding board as well, running theories by him as if Tony was in the position to agree or disagree, only to grasp the shortcomings of his hypotheses and ideas by himself, much later on, with no input from his mentor, whatsoever. And he always went pensively sad afterwards, realizing that their current dynamics was but a pathetic shadow of their old ones, and Tony, a mere husk of his old vibrant self.

[If you wake up right now, Mr. Stark, I swear that I will not be as pigheaded as I used to be. I will eat my greens and keep out of the streets and away from low-lifes with guns after curfew. I will not endanger myself and others by thinking I can do something by myself without asking for help. I won’t lie to Aunt May anymore about cutting class and drinking straight from the carton,] offered Peter like a litany before a saint’s image in a church. Sometimes, he made a different promise—he would religiously do his homework instead of losing sleep web-slinging; he would not cheat on his sit-ups in gym; he would not pester Happy so much—but the staple was: [I will not endanger myself and others by thinking I can do something by myself without asking for help. I promise, Mr. Stark. Just wake up already _please_ …]

It broke Tony’s heart that he’d had to let Peter down repeatedly by stubbornly staying asleep.

There were days when Strange was around, too. He preferred to wave his hands over Tony’s body like a musical conductor, conducting his gold-tinged energy to hover over and around Tony’s prone form. The genius knew Strange meant to be looking for his consciousness to coax it back to awareness but it was to no avail during those early days.

Pepper was there a handful of times, too, crying softly by his bedside, some days, and telling him off on other days for presumably being careless when it came to his personal safety. That although Tony knew that Pepper’s had it with him and any chance of a possible reconciliation was pretty much moot, he also knew in his heart of hearts that Pepper was never not going to care for him. They might not be lovers anymore but they were always going to be the best of friends.

And then one day, about a little over a month after the earliest video recording, Natasha was suddenly there as well, giving Rhodey a run for his money with the stony faces. She stayed in vigil most nights, quiet as the unconscious patient she was supposed to be keeping an eye on. But there were instances when Natasha hummed in soft, barely audible Russian.

Tony’s imperfect knowledge of the language told him that Natasha was humming Russian lullabies. He watched, jaw clenched, as Nat sometimes stroked comatose-Tony’s arm in time with the humming, worry and sadness shining out of her usually stern and unreadable green eyes.

The next couple of video files told Tony two things: that it was Natasha who had tried to discover if Steve’s left Tony with any means to get in touch; and that the prognosis of the team of his doctors was steadily becoming more ominous with each passing day that Tony stayed unconscious.

Natasha was right beside Tony’s sick bed when she’d first made contact with Steve using the burner phone that Tony’d sworn never to use. The video recording couldn’t catch Steve’s part of the conversation, but it caught Natasha’s just fine: [I deduced that there had to have been some kind of line of communication where Tony can reach you and you can reach Tony. I’ve had to guess about the existence of this burner phone. I needed to talk to you… It’s about Tony…]

Hesitant pause. Deep breath.

[There’s been an accident, Steve… Tony’s in a coma... He’s been in one for almost two months now. He’s stable…ish. And it’s up to Rhodey to give any medical consent to take him off life support, which I know he’s not going to—he’s not going to give up on his best friend. But Tony’s deteriorating with every day that he remains under, and the prognosis is…it’s not looking good,] Natasha’s voice actually cracked. [And… I thought I’d try to get in touch with you and the rest of the guys, you know, to—to…prepare us for any eventuality.]

Tony felt like he was watching someone else’s life. It didn’t feel, at all, as if he’d actually lived through this. It was, in a word, _surreal_. Seeing his friends’ worried faces and hearing their beseeching requests for him to wake up already made Tony want to reach out through the camera at his own unresponsive body and furiously shake himself awake. He wanted the stony expression off of Rhodey’s face; he wanted the dejection leeched out of Peter’s bedside supplications; he wanted to make Pepper stop crying; he wanted to tell Natasha that there was no need to drag Steve and the others into this…

And then one day, Steve was just _there_ , head hung, eyes downcast, voice breaking. He’d clutched at Tony’s unmoving arm so fiercely, murmuring: [Oh God, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Tony…] Steve didn’t break down or anything, but the sight of him in such despair in the video recording pinched at Tony’s heart in an unexpected way.

Tony expected to feel somewhat triumphant and gloating at Steve’s misery. After all, big-hearted and noble Steve Rogers—Tony’s childhood hero, friend and teammate—had hurt and betrayed him like no one else had ever done—not even Obie; if there was any way that Tony could somehow return that self-same favor, he’d be basking in the afterglow of getting back at Steve for hurting him, right?

Only, that wasn’t the case. Tony didn’t feel like gloating, watching Steve’s anguish in 1080p HD; he felt _pained_. He shivered as cold wind from the sea blew over the rooftop, ruffling his hair and drying the tears welling in his eyes. He wanted to be angry anew at the recollection of how Steve’s decisions had torn their family asunder, but he couldn’t; he seemed to share Steve’s horror as he listened to Natasha recount what had happened that put Tony in that hospital bed and hooked up to those unfeeling machines.

[If I’d just done what you suggested, Nat, none of this would’ve happened,] Steve protested, stricken with self-blame.

There it was—some kind of _admission_. More than anything, it should fuel Tony’s gloating now that he had been right and Steve had been wrong then. If Steve had just listened to him, they wouldn’t have had to go through the absolute _hell_ they went through this past year. But where might they be now if they hadn’t?

Would he have gotten to know _Bucky_ the way he would like to believe he did now?

Would he have gotten to know _himself_ the way he did now—that he could be capable of forgiveness and magnanimity for those who had done him and his loved ones harm, that he could be capable of _love_ after everything he’s been through and the horrors and betrayals he’s seen?

Would he have gotten to know _Steve_ —the one in the other universe and in this one, too, who’d shown him how patient and kind love could be, how it always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres?

[You know when I first met you, I thought you were larger than life. You landed in the square in Stuttgart in that intimidating pose, repulsors blazing, cocky and self-assured in this awesome piece of technology and I just stood there dressed in a leotard in the color of the American flag. The last thing I wanted was to be caught gaping at you like a moron,] Steve recounted on his first all-night vigil, with eyes still inexplicably sad. [You were sure of yourself like I had never been, even when I was in my own time, surrounded by people I knew. I was awkward, you see. Even after the Serum, and I suddenly have these abilities and near-perfect reflexes, I was still awkward and unsure inside. So very unlike you… Maybe that’s why we didn’t get on during those early days. Maybe that’s why we still don’t quite get on even those last—] Steve abruptly paused then instead of finishing what he was saying.

The Tony watching the video recording sighed heavily at that while the Tony on the hospital bed remained, happily, out of it.

[I should have trusted you, Tony. I shouldn’t have torn us apart,] Steve admitted softly, leaning forward to clutch at the unconscious man’s forearm as he had done when he first arrived. [But I didn’t know how to make you understand. Bucky was _my_ responsibility, my fault and not the team’s—I… Wake up, Tony. Please. Let me make it up to you. Just… wake up.]

And that night vigil became the first of many; that one-sided conversation and confession became the first of many as well. Steve was in _every single_ video recording since the day he’d arrived back at the compound. He religiously watched over Tony, sometimes with Rhodey or Pepper or Strange, but he never stayed long during the day and when he had to stand guard with someone else. But evenings were different—Steve practically _lived_ in Tony’s room at night, _every night_ , telling Tony stories, reading books to Tony, brushing the hair off of Tony’s forehead, giving Tony sponge-baths and meticulously grooming his van dyke, combing Tony’s hair, begging Tony to open his eyes…

[—We spent two nights in that French village and serenaded girls, took them on picnics. I think at some point, Dugan wanted us to leave him behind to marry this girl he met there who cooks the meanest crepes—]

[—Remember that burger place you like getting take-out from whenever you come over to the compound? Wanda is getting to be a good cook, she’s started to try replicating the burger patties from there. You’ll love it and we can, maybe, set-up an outdoor grill on the rooftop helipad… Wake up, so we can plan that for when the rest of the team comes back—]

[—You will love the technology in Wakanda, Tony. I know your eyes will bug out if you saw all the equipment they were able to build out of vibranium. And you will be so fascinated with the Dora Milaje and their weapons. Open your eyes, genius, so I can take you to Wakanda and give you a tour, with the King’s permission, of course. I know you will love it, Tony—]

 _[—“Really important meetings are planned by the souls long before the bodies see each other. Generally speaking, these meetings occur when we reach a limit, when we need to die and be reborn emotionally. These meetings are waiting for us, but more often than not, we avoid them happening. If we are desperate, though, if we have nothing to lose, or if we are full of enthusiasm for life, then the unknown reveals itself, and our universe changes direction.”_ —] 

[—It’s me, Steve, Tony. Please just…wake up—]

[—Clint says you gotta wake up to get him back for the shitty things he’d said to you. And you still have to formally meet Scott. You’ll like Scott. I think you’d really hit it off because he’s an engineer like you. And he’s resourceful and funny—like you, Tony.—]

[—You have to wake up so you can yell your throat off at me, call me names, tell me how stupid I was. I’ll let you go crazy, Tony, if it means you’ll be up and about and out of danger—]

[—Your hair is getting long. Maybe I could cut it for you. I used to cut Bucky’s hair for him and… I’d do it for you, too. If that’s all right with you—]

[—I’m here. It’s Steve, Tony. You can wake up. Please wake up—]

When recordings documenting the seizures started, Tony was nearly gnashing his teeth. Rhodey—and even Steve—were shocked and pissed that Tony had opted to execute that DNR Order. He must have been in a particularly self-deprecating and self-hating mood when he’d decided on that. In retrospect—now, after seeing how Steve, Rhodey and Nat had looked when they found out—Tony could concede that it might not be one of his better ideas.

And—holy shit!—he _flat-lined_?! On the day that the rest of team had found their way back home, Tony had almost _died_! If Rhodey had not defied the DNR, Tony wouldn’t be sitting here watching this and feeling like a complete douche. The look on the faces of each and every one of the people in that room while he was getting jumpstarted back to life would be seared in Tony’s memory forever.

 _This was his family_. They weren’t perfect. They’d had their ups and downs, their quarrels and conflicts, but at their very core, they were a family. Tony was grateful that he had been given the chance to make things right with them. While it was true that he could’ve stayed in the other universe and saved himself from the hassle of trying to put back together something that might have already been broken beyond repair, he was mighty glad now that he’d decided to come back.

To the family he chose. The family he _deserved_.

But the look on all the others’ faces couldn’t come close to that of Steve’s. Tony’s eyes narrowed and he brought his face closer to the tablet. He’d seen that look before—it tickled at the edge of his conscious memory. The anguished disbelief, the agonized devastation—

It was the same look on Steve’s face when he’d failed to reach out to Bucky on the train.

He didn’t know what it meant; he didn’t want to think what he wanted it to mean. But it meant _something_. It had to!

It was a good thing he knew what actually happened after that flat-lining scare or Tony would have upchucked the soda and sandwich churning in his bowels at the relief when he didn’t die. But for about one more month, it was still more of the same; he was still unconscious. Though there were more people taking turns at the bedside vigil—even Wanda, Clint and Scott took their turn, Steve was still pretty much a permanent fixture. The one-sided conversations continued; the light coaxing to open his eyes pushed on.

If Tony hadn’t seen it with his own eyes as recorded by his own reliable tech, he wouldn’t have believed it. To think he’d been beyond pissed— _and jealous_ —when Steve had stayed by Bucky’s bedside for almost 50 hours after the incident at the cinema, it had never crossed his mind that Steve could do the same thing— _had_ , in fact, done the same thing—for him for over a month!

But what did that mean? What did it _all_ mean?

Tony was still deep in thought long after the last video file stopped playing. The horizon was slowly lightening; the long night was ending, and it was going to be another beautiful tropical day.

There was warmth and cold sitting at the pit of his stomach—warmth from the realization that the others actually _did_ care, and cold at the guilt that Tony’s seen it fit to deal them another blow now, disappearing on them without any word and putting them through _that kind of horror_ again.

God, he was an _asshole_!

 _And_ he hated to admit it, but _Strange_ was right.

He couldn’t regret where the past year has taken him. He was able to put himself and his family back together, after all. Their family was what they were now because of his, Steve’s and Bucky’s newfound affinity for each other. If Tony couldn’t remember being in love with Bucky and Steve, he would probably be left with nothing but the anger he had started out with, and he wouldn’t have that. He didn’t come this far only to regress to the angry hermit he used to be before all this.

What was he going to do now, though? Steve and Bucky were together now and they deserved to be happy. They waited a damn long time for their love to have a chance, and yeah—it fucking hurt, knowing everything that Tony knew now, but maybe it didn’t have to?

There was a shit-ton of different kinds of love; and Tony’s love didn’t have to hurt him. Not if he didn’t want it to. Not if he didn’t _let_ it.

Steve and Bucky were happy with each other, weren’t they? If they were happy, then Tony was, too. And that has to be enough.

There was no doubt in mind anymore about his team being worried about him—Steve and Bucky were probably tearing the continent apart looking for him. So who was he going to call to assure them that he was safe? _Rhodey_ would tear him a new one even over the damn phone, no doubt about that. _Pepper_ would bawl so much that Tony probably wouldn’t get a word in edgewise. _Peter_ would probably be too excited that he’d end up blowing school and homework off or doing something even more unbelievably reckless.

He _could_ call _Steve_ or _Bucky_ , but what would he tell them? Was he even ready yet to talk to either of them?

Or he could call—

He was dialing using a secure and heavily-encrypted line through his tablet before he could lose his nerve.

“Romanoff.” Nat barked from the other end of the line, picking up on the second ring. When Tony didn’t identify himself immediately, Nat prompted, “hello?”

“Hey Nat,” Tony finally said after a resolute breath.

“ _Tony_?”

“The one and the only,” joked the genius, cringing slightly, which, thankfully, was hidden from the person he was conversing with.

“A—are you all right? Where are you?”

“I’m safe. Don’t worry. I was never in any danger. Although it was a nice touch having my disappearance pinned on Ross,” replied Tony. “I have a plan to expose Ross. It’ll all make sense very soon. For now, I need you to trust me,” Tony requested, tapping the in-ear comm device that he’d engineered to pair with the tablet.

Tony could tell there was a bit of hesitation in Natasha’s non-reaction. He took the silence as a signal to go on. He didn’t have much time and he wanted to make the most of this call before he had to disconnect. “How is everyone?”

The reference to the _two_ people Tony was eager to hear about remained unspoken. But the genius hoped that Natasha somehow knew… _something_. If there ever was a time that Tony wanted Natasha to know or understand something without him having to explain it, now was it.

“Worried sick about you,” answered Natasha with an audible exhale. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I always do.”

Soon. It would all be over soon. And then the threat that Ross posed on his family and everything he’d worked so hard this past year to rebuild from the ground up would be no more.


	39. 39. STEVE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The shiteth hath hiteth the faneth on the whole Ross business, but Tony is still a no-show, so Steve and Bucky fetch the genius from his hidey-hole. The long-awaited three-way conversation, a revelation, a shocking proposal, some resistance to the pitch, some top-notch persuasion ensue. Will our boys risk everything to try to be each other's everything?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long chapter y'all!!!! But hey it's a weekend update, and that leaves us with just the concluding chapter in our boys' sordid love story, YAAAAAAY!!!!
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's left Kudos and Comments not only in the last chapter but those doing the catch-up-reading, too!!! You guys are really the most awesome set of people I've ever had the pleasure to meet through this story, and you are such a blessing!!! I would love to know what you think so don't scrimp on the Kudos and Comments, a'ight? I hope the laying-all-their-cards-on-the-table three-way conversation was believable and kinda worth all this shit that led up to it--on that note, let me know what y'all think? ^_^
> 
> I hope to finish this story before my birthday on the 28th (it'll be my gift to myself, finishing my longest fanfic yet) and there is 98% chance that I will be writing smut which is why I don't want to rush myself and savor the moment. 'Cause if that's the case, this will be the first three-way smut I've ever written *tugs at my blouse's collar, feeling the pressure* Aaaand, on that note, let it be your birthday gift to me to share this story to other fans and to let me feel your love by leaving your insights and what the journey, reading this story, had been like for you. I think that'd really be the swellest. (And you know, virtual cake and cookies will go a long way, too! ^_^) Also, if the story has inspired you to write some kind of spin-off or your own story that diverges from the plot I decided to use (SeleneMoon, I mean you!!! *wink wink*), or using a different perspective ie, any of the other Avengers' (Stephen's would be nice) on the whole Steve-Tony-Bucky threesome in this 'verse, then BY ALL MEANS, DO IT!!!! I will be your number one cheer-reader!!!! ^_^
> 
> Note: A/V Reports and Footage in [brackets]
> 
> Having said all that, on to the 39th then. Happy Weekend y'all and ENJOY!  
> \---

Something definitely changed in the international political arena overnight while the Avengers facility slept. From the moment Peter opened the flat-screen TV—where barely five nights ago, they’d watched Pepper’s and Ross’ press conferences, one after the other—to keep himself occupied while preparing for school for the day, he knew something had changed and it didn’t take him three minutes to rouse everyone out of bed to enthusiastically tell the rest of the team about it.

Steve must have fallen asleep sometime in the middle of the night despite his anxiety after getting barely a few hours of sleep, in total, for the entire week. He had shuddered awake to Peter’s energetic call delivered via FRIDAY, wrapped up in a fleece blanket with Bucky’s head on his lap. Bucky, too, must have fallen into restless slumber while the two were holding their usual vigil in the Command Center for any whisper of news regarding Tony. For all of thirty seconds, Steve had hoped that they were being violently awakened with news of Tony’s whereabouts, but his hopes were dashed when the news had turned out to be about Thaddeus Ross and some explosive information regarding his vendetta to destabilize the amendments to the Sokovia Accords that had somehow found their way to every major media outfit, local and international intelligence agencies, prolific bloggers and Twitter or Facebook viral sensations.

[—echoes the sentiment of the United States’ representative to the United Nations that this definitely calls for a criminal investigation on former Secretary of State, General Thaddeus Ross, after incontrovertible evidence was brought to light regarding his involvement in the attacks on rallies supporting the ratification of the Sokovia Accords’ amendments as well as in terrorist threats in Paris, Shanghai and Madripoor earlier this year, resulting in civilian injuries and damage to property—]

[—prospect of looking at multiple charges in various jurisdictions, not only within the United States, where there have been such attacks orchestrated by Ross and his associates—]

[—for the courts to appreciate the quality of the evidence. As the public has been made to understand, some of the evidence has come into the possession of the media outfits from anonymous sources, but they _are_ pretty damning in and of themselves, but now we also have reports coming in of arrest warrants coming out of the woodwork in some affected countries and extrajudicial confessions of suspected terrorists purportedly associated with Ross that fully corroborate the evidence against the latter—]

[—even be looking at a possible prosecution by the International Criminal Court on charges of crimes against humanity if the conditions for the exercise of the said Court’s jurisdiction are met—]

Much like before, apart from the plethora of reports on the television, Steve could practically hear a pin drop in the living area. Everyone was motionless where they sat or stood, silently digesting the news they were being bombarded with—what it might mean for each and every one of them, individually, and for The Avengers as a team. While they could acknowledge that this hardly meant that there would no longer be opposition to the current form of the Sokovia Accords—they knew there would always be nay-sayers—at the very least, this gave them hope that they could be given the reins to do good, free of unnecessary bias and suspicion against their character or their intentions, that they might be given a chance first to prove the good that they could do before enduring criticism.

“You gotta wonder what awesome thing musta happened while we was all sleepin’, huh?” Peter finally piped up, jokingly, destroying the pregnant silence in the room.

“Well, _that_ deals with Ross,” Nat followed it up quite definitively, plonking down between Scott and Sam on the long couch in front of the TV. Her face had not lost the sharp and hard edge to it despite their apparent and current success against their biggest detractor. If she was satisfied of this outcome, she was good at hiding it.

“Doesn’t quite answer the question of where _Tony_ is, though,” Rhodey interjected, angling his body towards the threesome on the couch, his pajama-clad arms crossed over his chest and disquiet still writ clear on his visage.

“Forgive me for not jumping for joy and throwing a damn party, but _Tony is still missing_. And how sure are we that Ross wouldn’t take this out on him, wherever _the fuck_ it is he and his minions might have stashed Tony away?” Bucky remarked, arm similarly over his chest and metal hand clenched into a tight fist in front of his mouth. He stood like a sentry behind the long couch, for now content with observing the others’ reactions and watching the snippets on TV.

Silence.

Steve didn’t want to have to fan Bucky’s roaring fires of discontent already by seconding the sentiment, but he inwardly agreed.

“Actually… Ross didn’t have Tony abducted,” Natasha revealed out of the blue, breaking the tense silence.

The understated revelation was met with various reactions from the rest of the team. There were hisses of ‘what?’, questions of ‘what are you talking about?’ and ‘are you serious?’, and comments in the vein of ‘I don’t understand’. And Natasha saw fit to address all of them in her characteristic cool and calm way that didn’t at all undermine the fact that she could commit murder using a teabag and a hairclip. “Tony made contact with me and gave the heads up that this would happen,” she nodded towards the circus of news reports about Ross. “He must have felt like he had to do something about Ross but didn’t want us dragged into the shit-show in case Ross starts pointing fingers.”

Rhodey scoffed and laughed sardonically, tongue in cheek. He seemed both, in equal measure, pissed off at and proud of this newest stunt that his best friend has successfully pulled at their expense. “Ass-clown…” He muttered, lips curling. “Where’s he, then? Why hasn’t he come back home now that Ross has been dealt with?”

Natasha shrugged and said, “he didn’t say and I didn’t ask him about his future plans.” It was then that she quite obviously stole a quick glance at Steve, who was still wound-up like a coil ready to spring, and then at Bucky, who had his jaw clenched, still unspeaking. The small, stealthy gesture wasn’t lost on Steve at all. “I guess, we’ll just have to wait for him to come back. When he’s ready…”

The rest of the day flew by in a haze. Peter still went to school to attend class in high spirits, and the rest of the team spent the time, each in their own unique and well-deserved method of R&R. The past week had been severely stressful on every one of them that Steve could hardly begrudge them their own peace and quiet. He figured they could celebrate properly as a team once their techno-savvy, resourceful and self-sacrificing hero was back at base.

Now that it has been revealed that Tony’s disappearance had all been part of some plan, for Steve’s part, he tried to reclaim _his_ Zen by sketching a couple of still-lifes in the relative safety and solitude of his quarters. He had been on edge all week, hardly getting some shut-eye, worried about Tony, that he didn’t really know whether the new route his life had taken of late was more of a welcome development than a disturbing twist:

Steve has finally come to terms with the fact that he felt for Tony what he also felt for Bucky—that the persistent ache, guilt and self-loathing in his heart since the start of their little conflict last year was brought about by his own very, _very_ strong feelings for the genius-billionaire, that the warmth at the core of his soul directed towards the futurist was _not_ only out of deep-seated friendship and some kind of debt of gratitude but because of _love_. _Romantic love._ _All-consuming and passionate love._ Of the kind that could cross and encompass universes. Of the kind he never imagined, not in his wildest dreams, he could feel for someone else apart from Bucky—

Bucky… _Bucky_ now knew, without a shadow of a doubt, what Steve felt for Tony, too. And he seemed…all right with it somehow. Steve was at first confused that Bucky had seemed composed in the face of it. And then he was afraid that maybe Bucky was only trying to project a happy front to cover his feeling of being immensely betrayed. Suffice it to say that it was driving Steve _insane_ , trying to wrap his mind around it—around this whole situation.

And he hasn’t even told _Tony_ yet! He didn’t have a damn clue how to even _begin to think_ about what he would tell Tony…

Steve didn’t know when he had succumbed to the stress of the past few days enough to slip into another restless slumber, but the next thing he knew he was being jostled awake by Bucky and night had already claimed the rolling crests and troughs of the compound’s terrain.

“I’m pretty sure he’s in Hawaii,” Bucky announced, voice gravelly and with an air of secrecy to it.

It was immediately clear to Steve who it was they were talking about. “How do you know that?”

“Have you forgotten who you’re talking to?” Bucky asked, fighting to keep the deadpan expression on his face. He used to be HYDRA’s bloodhound after all, and Steve was loathe to admit that something must have rubbed off on Bucky after all those years tracking down and dispatching HYDRA targets. “So, are we coming to get him or not? Because if I have to spend one more minute reading articles off _Google_ , I’m gonna fucking scream.”

“Right,” conceded Steve, gathering his wits about him by rubbing the residual sleepiness out of his eyes. He still didn’t have any idea how to tell Tony about how he felt, but—hey—he’d asked for this. He’d wanted to know Tony’s whereabouts as soon as humanly possible so he could stand before Tony, look into those arresting brown eyes and come clean about how he felt. He’d rather not do it in front of Bucky for the betrayal that he still thought his feelings represented, but it wasn’t as if he could leave his best friend behind when it was the latter who’d found Tony to begin with.

Perhaps it _was_ for the best that the three of them get down to talking about their _feelings_ because by the looks of them, this— _this thing_ between the three of them was no small matter, and it didn’t look like it was going to go away anytime soon either.

But due to the general mayhem that the Ross exposé caused, there was a mix-up with prepping the quinjet they were supposed to take to Hawaii so much so that it was already beginning to get light out again when the confusion was finally cleared and the right jet was prepped. Steve supposed the fates were probably sensing the overpowering fear that had settled at the pit of his stomach that they were working overtime to buy him more time to gather himself and formulate a plan of attack.

Still too soon for Steve’s liking, however, the two were in a fully-prepped quinjet bound for Hawaii, trying to outrun the sunrise and a new day, with the mission to bring Tony home.

“Seriously, Buck, how do you know that Tony is in Hawaii?” Steve brought it up again when they were already at maximum speed at cruising altitude and auto-pilot was engaged.

“When the exposé about Ross erupted without The Avengers getting wind of it despite FRIDAY supposedly keeping an eye on things, and later on when Natasha revealed that Tony was never abducted and that he went into hiding as part of his plan to bait Ross somehow, I put two and two together and realized that FRIDAY _must_ a been given some kinda heads-up about Tony’s plan. _Which means_ , Tony musta gotten into contact with FRIDAY at some point…which _then_ means, he _can keep in contact_ with his AI so FRIDAY wouldn’t mistakenly sound the alarm however long this self-imposed and continued exile of his was gonna be,” Bucky animatedly relayed his thought process to Steve, complete with lip curls and shrugs. If he was surprised that Steve’s tactical mind hadn’t seem like it had arrived at the exact same conclusion, he didn’t show it. “So, I _asked_ FRIDAY about it,” was the surprising conclusion to the narrative that was sort of _anti-climactic_ , if truth be told.

“And she just… _told_ you where Tony is, did she?” Steve asked, his voice laced with doubt.

Steve felt a tad guilty, too. _He_ should’ve been thinking along the same lines, but the stress of worrying about Tony, coming to terms about being in love with two people at the same time, feeling guilty about betraying Bucky by falling for Tony, and thinking about how to tell Tony how he felt were apparently all that his attention span had any room for of late. He marveled again at how Bucky complemented him like this: Bucky was focused and willful when Steve was distracted and weak.

“I can be very _persuasive_ when I wanna be,” Bucky cryptically answered with another shrug. “’Sides, I’ve always known how to charm my way around dames,” he followed up with a sidelong glance and a wink.

Steve breathed a sigh as if to psych himself up for the difficult times that lay ahead. “He might take this the wrong way, you know,” he brought up as casually as he could manage, certain that Bucky would know what he was talking about. “He must have had his reasons for staying away.” The blonde could only surmise what his best friend must be thinking of him now, what with the uncharacteristic self-doubt that was fighting its way through the carefully erected walls guarding Steve’s heart and displaying itself on his otherwise striking features.

Bucky side-eyed him again, his face unimpressed. Which clearly meant that Steve wasn’t fooling anyone right now; he certainly wasn’t fooling Bucky.

“Ugh, I don’t know what— _how_ —to tell him, OK?” To say that Steve was feeling a bit frustrated was a damn understatement.

“You’ll think o’ somethin’,” Bucky assured him with an encouraging smile and a pat to his knee. “What’s important is for him to know how you feel ‘bout him.”

“Are you really OK with this, Buck? I mean, how are you just… _OK_ with this?” Steve asked, amazed and not a little mortified that Bucky could be so chill with the whole _we’re-in-love-with-each-other-but-at-the-same-time-we’re-in-love-with-the-same-guy_ situation.

“So, you’re in love with Tony—hey— _I’m_ in love with Tony, too,” Bucky reasoned, matter-of-factly. “Doesn’t mean we’re in love with each other any less, does it?”

“No,” confirmed Steve with a chuckle. “No, it doesn’t.” At least, Steve seemed to be the only one overthinking this whole thing, thank God.

“But this won’t come easy,” admitted Bucky, then in a rush of words quite uncharacteristic of him, continued, “this is going to take a lot of work—a lot of _communication_ , which, in all honesty, the three of us ain’t really got a good track record in. _But_ …if we can somehow pull this off—“

Steve’s expression has been steadily growing more and more confused as Bucky rambled on; tickled and slightly alarmed, he interrupted “—pull _what_ off…exactly?”

Bucky squarely met Steve’s gaze, iron-clad resolve meeting hesitant confusion. “You, me and Tony,” he said, again in a matter-of-fact tone as if dismayed that Steve failed to catch on.

Steve didn’t get it. And it must have shown like a beacon on his face that he didn’t, that Bucky started to chide him: “what have you been reading all this time, Stevie—honestly?”

“Nothing as crazy as what you’re trying to imply, that’s for damn sure.”

“It’s _not_ crazy,” negated Bucky. “It’ll be _challenging_ —sure—but not crazy. First, though, we have to know how Tony feels about this—“

“—OK Buck? You still haven’t answered me—what is _this_ then?” Steve needled, getting more and more frustrated that once again, Bucky seemed to be on a different level and Steve couldn’t quite keep up.

Rolling his stormy-blues in exasperation, Bucky finally put Steve out of his misery. “ _Polyamory_ , Stevie,” said Bucky with some kind of flourish.

Steve _still_ didn’t get it. And he couldn’t reconcile the fact that such a modern-as-hell concept was being referred to by his best friend when the term itself didn’t seem like it had any business at all, coming out of Bucky’s mouth.

“See—we’re both in love with Tony and in love with each other, right?” Bucky began to explain in earnest now. “And I know that Tony is, in some way, in love with you, too, or he wouldn’t be finding it so hard to disassociate you from the other-dimension-you as Strange, himself, has confirmed. You can be with Tony, and I can be with you and, you know, if Tony doesn’t find it too detestable to, maybe, try to learn to like me like that, too, in the future, then we’re in business.

“I’ve been reading about polyamory in _Google_ and it’s really a thing nowadays and if we could get Tony on board with this, get down to brass tacks and lay all our cards on the table, we could really make it work,” Bucky concluded, beaming with pride.

Steve swallowed his trepidation at Bucky’s near-manic proposal. He’s heard of polyamory, of course—he was staying under the same roof as Sam and Scott, and their horrendous taste in television entertainment, so of course, Steve has. But it’s always seemed so… _convoluted_ to him. Perhaps in an ideal world where there was no room for miscommunication, defensiveness, self-preservation, selfishness, white lies, and destructive secrecy, it was just as simple as the talk shows have put it.

Right now, though, it sounded like utter madness to him, _But…_ it _was_ a way to be able to be with the two people he loved most in all the world. He would actually get to keep them, love them and be loved by them in equal measure. _All three of them. Together…_

It gave him hope and he had to admit there was a certain logic and an undeniable beauty to the idea, and— _Christ almighty_ —he couldn’t believe he was actually considering this!

“Jesus Bucky, what have _you_ been reading?!”

-0-0-0-

It was the absolute dead of night when the super soldiers’ jet touched down in Oahu, and they were quickly on the move to find Tony at the soonest possible time.

“FRIDAY said he’d be checked in in a cabana under the name of Adrian Kaminsky,” Bucky informed Steve who was close at his heels. Guided by the soft light of the half moon, the two stealthily flitted past several identical squat structures—the cabanas—which were either unoccupied since it wasn’t exactly peak season, or with inhabitants that were still deep in slumber, until they came upon the last cabana in the row. “I’m pretty sure that’s it,” Bucky motioned towards the cabana’s number with a nod.

Checking that they were still safely under the cover of semi-darkness, the two shot towards the cabana’s wooden balustraded-portico and Bucky immediately got down to jimmying the rudimentary locking mechanism of the place open while Steve kept watch on his partner’s six. Once they got the room open, the super soldiers combed the place for any booby-traps that they knew Tony was perfectly capable of putting together to safeguard his safety and relative anonymity.

Finding none, the two chose their individual perches to wait for Tony. They allowed silence to reign over them for the time being, thinking that if there were things that needed to be said, it would be better said when all three of them were present to hash things out. If they were going to take Tony’s pulse on this polyamory thing, they would do well to discuss the things that needed discussing when Tony was already there. They would wait all night, wide awake and in silence, if they had to.

After about half an hour of waiting, each immersed in their own thoughts and misgivings about what awaited all of them once Tony came back, the lock on the door that they had jimmied open previously was being accessed with what sounded like its proper key, and a figure staggered into the room with a slurred, “stupid fucking door,” before the door was slammed shut again. The newcomer didn’t bother to flip any light switches and just groped his way around the room, half-stumbling around artfully-placed furniture in the exact deportment of the very drunk.

In the darkness, Steve, sat on the armchair in the shadowy corner of the room across from the door, met Bucky’s shrewd eyes, looking for cues from the ex-Sergeant. Bucky, on the other hand, standing whilst leaning a hip against the fixed counter where the complimentary hotel stuff were displayed, comically cocked his head and moved his eyeballs from Steve towards the newcomer, motioning for the former to do something about letting the latter know they were lying in wait there. 

“You shouldn’t have acted on your own against Ross, Tony,” Steve suddenly blurted out, announcing his presence amidst Tony’s colorful exclamation of surprise. “I thought we were supposed to be a _team_ … We were worried out of our minds, thinking something bad had happened to you.”

The moment the words were out of Steve’s mouth, he knew he’d screwed up. The frustrated crumpling of Bucky’s face and the dismayed shake of his head that Steve could still unmistakably see in the dimness additionally confirmed that, yeah, it was a bad move. Because it was a portent for a conversation that was sure to go nowhere else but downhill, now that Tony has been put on the defensive.

“Fucking hell, Cap. Were you planning to get back at me by scaring me shitless?” Well, at least it really _was_ Tony, and the two super soldiers hadn’t ended up trespassing into the wrong cabana after all. Because, frankly, that would just be awkward as all-hell. The weak light of the moon outside illuminated Tony’s face, that had momentarily blanched with shock, and revealed that—

“You shaved your face.” It was Bucky who voiced the observation that time, disbelief lacing his tone. He’d moved a bit closer to where Tony and Steve were, coming out of the shadows and into the pale light bleeding into the cabana through light blue, sheer curtains.

“And of course, _you_ would be here, too,” scoffed Tony at Bucky, self-consciously rubbing at his smooth and uncharacteristically bare chin and jaw. “Don’t tell me _Nat_ is under the bed and _Rhodey_ is inside the closet or something?”

“It’s just me and Stevie,” clarified Bucky, moving closer to Tony still. “Why did you shave your face?” The question was reproachful, which Tony, again, might take the wrong way, but the former Sergeant was not going to be deterred.

“I _was_ trying to be invisible. The van dyke made me too recognizable,” mumbled Tony, finally dropping his hand from self-consciously scrubbing at where his van dyke used to be. Even in the pale moonlight and where Tony was standing a couple paces away from Steve, the latter couldn’t help but zero in on the near-invisible, silver scar on the genius-billionaire’s chin, and relief and love suddenly gushed from the very depths of Steve’s heart.

Tony was _there_. Tony was safe. Tony wasn’t going to leave him—wasn’t going to leave _them_.

He’d wanted to hang on to the anger and dismay at Tony for acting on his own again without letting the team in on it despite his promise that he’d never pull another stunt like that again, for making them think that something bad might have happened to him, for making them worry out of their damn minds… But Steve couldn’t. Having Tony there with them, safe and unharmed, knowing that Tony came back from the other dimension because of him, knowing that Tony didn’t intend to go anywhere, and acknowledging what it was that Steve felt for him—Steve’s anger melted away into nothing. And before he was aware of what his body was doing, Steve surged forward and fiercely wrapped his arms around Tony’s slighter-built body. Steve buried his face in the hollow on the side of Tony’s neck, closed his eyes and just…held the other man in his arms, sought out the genius’ heart beating against Steve’s chest. He wanted to do away with words and convey everything he felt for Tony at that moment in that one embrace.

Before the genius could react, Steve felt Bucky wrapping his arms around both of them from behind Tony. “We were so worried about you, T,” he murmured against the other side of Tony’s head.

“O—kaaay… I _might_ be more hungover than I thought… And on that note, can we dispense with the hugs? Because, really, I’m all right. Right now I’d really rather nurse my hangover in peace,” Tony piped up from between the two super soldiers with a sarcastic chortle to downplay that he was getting the breath hugged out of him by two warm-as-a-furnace super soldiers.

“We’re not done, Tony,” Bucky, stepping away from the three-way hug, informed in the midst of Tony’s soft whines of protest. “Steve…has one more thing to say to you.” He glared at Steve again with wide, urging eyes and cocked his head in a _go-ahead-and-spit-it-out_ gesture but not without a hint of _screw-this-up-by-saying-something-that-will-offend-him-and-I-will-end you_.

Well, Steve supposed it was now or never. He squared his shoulders, standing in front of Tony and brazenly meeting the other man’s eyes. “I was worried because I thought I’d lost another chance to tell you how much you mean to me. I’m…” The Captain took a deep, rattling breath, bit his lip in momentary hesitation, but forged ahead anyway, saying, “I’m in love with you, Tony. And I don’t know—maybe I’ve always felt like this, all this time, since I woke up from the ice, and you’ve always been there to ground me and give me innumerable reasons to belong. Or maybe this was something new, something completely out of left field, that I never really thought I’d feel again for someone else until I’ve faced the very real prospect of a life— _a world_ —without you in it.

“But it doesn’t matter when and how it came to be—what matters is that I understand now what you are to me, Tony, and what I want to be to you. I was so terrified when you disappeared; I thought I’d lost my chance again… But never again, so I’m telling you this now before I lose my nerve—I love you, Tony Stark. I’m _in love with you_ ,” Steve said, fighting his emotions into submission lest his voice break or his eyes leak quite unmanful tears.

Tony confusedly looked from an emotional Steve to a serene Bucky with a steadily becoming more and more skeptical expression on his face. “What _the fuck_ did they put in those martinis I was practically inhaling at the bar?!” He muttered, furiously scrubbing his face with a hand. Angling his entire body to look at Bucky, he pointed out with a gesture, “you’re awfully calm considering that your boyfriend’s just been professing his love to _another_ _man_ right in fucking front of you.”

Steve answered for Bucky. “Oh, he knows—“

“—I know,” Bucky confirmed for himself. “And I’m all right with it. Who am I to give Steve flak for what he feels about you when _I’m_ still in love with you, too, Tony?”

Tony opened and closed his mouth, clearly bamboozled by what he was hearing. He huffed out, “I might have walked into the wrong cabana after all—who’re you two again?!”

“We’re _both_ crazy in love with you, genius, and this is us seizing the bull by the horns and telling you about it just so we’re all on the same page. Just so you know, loud and clear, how we feel,” Bucky repeated, a fond and amused expression blossoming on his face that Steve couldn’t help but find enthralling, hugely different from and so much better than the haunted appearance that Bucky once had. That Tony tirelessly helped make better. Because wasn’t that exactly what Tony did for them: make them better men—make them _want_ to be better men?

This time, Tony faced Steve and gestured from one super soldier to the other. “ _You’ve_ always been in love with _him_. And besides, _you_ —“ he gestured back at Steve, “—weren’t even talking to me before I left. You were hell-bent on ignoring that I exist—and goodness knows what the fuck it was I did for you to give me the cold shoulder—and now, you’re saying you’re _in love with me_?!”

Steve would be lying if he said that accusation didn’t leave him smarting. He really _was_ a terrible human being to Tony during those weeks and he absolutely regretted it. In effort to try to stave off the onslaught of his strong feelings for Tony and salvage what he was trying to build with Bucky, he thought he could cut Tony off even at great pain to himself. He didn’t expect Tony to understand another one of Steve’s betrayals; he didn’t expect Tony to believe his profession of love because had he not just chosen Bucky _again_ and ignored Tony during those couple of weeks?

“It’s ‘cause he was being a _moron_ ,” Bucky said and turned towards him with a _look-what-you-did-you-idiot?_ face, fanning the flames of Tony’s anger. But—hey—if it were Steve, he wouldn’t forgive or believe himself either after that little stunt he’d pulled.

“I _was_ being a moron,” Steve owned up to it, hanging his neck. “But I was suddenly faced with the prospect of possibly being in love with _two men at once_ while I was trying to test the waters with one of them; tell me you wouldn’t have done the same thing or that wouldn’t scare the living shit out of you, too, had you been in my place—please,” invited Steve with a desperate rake of a hand through his hair. “I didn’t know what to do! I didn’t know how to do right by _both_ of you. It wasn’t as if what I found myself feeling was all that common as I was growing up…”

Tony shook his head as if inwardly telling himself to hear none of the logic in that explanation. He turned towards Bucky next. “And _you’re_ supposed to be in love with _him_. Remember the happy-BARF footage chock full of your sickly-sweet moments together?!”

“I am,” Bucky said with a fond smile at Steve, but looking at Tony next, continued, “but I’m in love with _you_ , too, or have _you_ forgotten that my happy-BARF footage also had quite a lotta _you_ in it? I never stopped loving you even after I knew in my heart that I love Stevie and need him in my life. But I didn’t want to force myself on you when you only wanted me as a friend, so I told myself, I’d rather have you in my life in any way I can, even if you can’t love me like that…like how I love you,” Bucky remarked, his voice slightly breaking at that.

It was then that the fight seemed to leave Tony and he hugged himself, avoiding looking at them and uncharacteristically keeping mum when there was nothing to keep mum about in this twisted/complicated/utterly mad situation that the three of them were in. More importantly, Steve noticed that Tony especially avoided looking at Bucky…

“Look Tony, we’ve talked to Strange, we have an idea about what you really feel for Steve, and you can deny it left, right, and center, but _I know_ you love him, too. And—“ At this, Bucky wavered for a moment, but plowed on regardless, “—you can be with him. He can be with you, too. And I love you both so much that I—“

“—I am not hurting you like this, Bucky,” Tony insisted through gritted teeth and eyes shining with repressed emotions clearly visible even in the pale moonlight filtering into the room. “You think I will be happy with Steve if I have to _hurt you_? I won’t!

“ _Fuck_! Why did you two have to be here?!” Tony practically wailed before plopping down on the edge of the bed, planting his elbows on his knees and cradling his head in his hands in a posture of utter defeat. Bucky wanted to kneel before Tony and comfort the other brunette immediately to broach his initial idea of a possible polyamorous relationship but Steve gestured for him to give Tony some time to vent. A welcome revelation was coming; Steve could feel it. They just have to let Tony deal and Steve was certain that Bucky was going to get the best shock of his life.

“I didn’t want to come back to the compound yet because I was trying to manage my pain, trying to convince myself that I did the right thing. That love didn’t have to hurt. I keep telling myself I shouldn’t let this love hurt me when the most important thing is that the two people I love are happy— _you’re_ happy. Together. With each other. And I was going to be content with that! I was going to take the complication out! Then you, boys, have to go and ruin it all to hell with your confessions and your offers of sacrifice,” Tony spat and looked up to bore his hazel eyes into Bucky’s as if in a challenge. “So yeah, no—love to be with Steve, thanks… But no thanks! I can’t do that at your expense—not at the expense of someone _I love_ , Bucky.” He hung his head after that and hunched in on himself, defeated.

Bucky quavered in the shock of the revelation, which Steve could tell Bucky wasn’t expecting at all—who was the moron now?—especially when _Steve_ sort of saw it coming. The Captain wrestled with the smile just starting to bloom on his face. The warmth from the depths of his heart, translating into tingles all over his body, was just beginning to border on this side of painful. He wanted to touch both Tony and Bucky again. At the same time. So badly. He wanted to bask in their touches, to burn in the heat of their embrace. But first things first, Steve supposed.

Bucky softly knelt in between the V of Tony’s legs then tipped Tony’s chin up with the gentlest touch that the cybernetic hand could manage, so they were squarely looking into each other’s eyes. It was such a tender moment that Steve felt so fortunate to witness. “That settles it then,” Bucky murmured, tracing the side of Tony’s face with the fingers of his flesh hand. “I’m not letting Steve go. _And_ I’m not letting _you_ go either. If you’ll let us, Tony, we’d like to be with you—it’s going to be you, me and Steve. _All three of us._ Together. What do say, genius?”

So, that was what it took to stun Tony Stark into dumbfounded silence, huh…?

“You’re not suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, are you?” Tony, after a period of quiet, asked, looking at Bucky, aghast. He then looked up again to see if Steve’s visage mirrored his horror. When he found Steve’s face etched with entreaty instead, he stood up and walked towards the fixed counter to stand where Bucky had stood earlier, hugging his arms close to his chest again and looking uncharacteristically young in his hesitation and misgivings. “I can’t believe you’re humoring him in this harebrained idea of his, Steve,” chastised Tony with an audible ‘tsk’, glaring at Steve as if _he_ was the source of this crazy idea from the get-go. “While I did tell you on the night of your birthday that I’m not one to say no to a hot threesome and all, I didn’t think you’d _actually take that crazy shit seriously_?!” Tony practically screeched.

“How is it crazy when it feels right?” Steve asked, shrugging.

“Do you even realize what you’re suggesting?!” Tony demanded, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Listen—are you boys listening? I am a man about town and I do know about the intricacies of polyamory, and my personal opinion is: _It’s. A Bad. Idea!_ ” Tony made sure to enunciate the words so the two wouldn’t read anything else into it other than what he’d just said. “And with me in the mix, it’s bound to be _fucking catastrophic_ —what—because now I get to corrupt and ruin _two lives_ instead of just one, and I’m not stupid enough to open that can of worms. You two are better off cherishing your monogamous relationship and we can go about forgetting this conversation ever happened,” suggested Tony, resolutely, motioning towards the door and hinting that the two can make themselves scarce.

Steve didn’t move a muscle. Neither did Bucky. “I ain’t going anywhere. Stevie, d’you have somewhere to be?” Bucky asked in challenge, all the while not dropping Tony’s shrewd glare.

“I’m exactly right where I want to be, Buck,” Steve replied, echoing Bucky’s stubbornness. “Believe it or not, Tony, our happy, monogamous relationship? It needs you in it.

“I was going stir-crazy in Wakanda, watching videos of you every day and beating myself up for the stupid, _stupid_ thing I did that caused that rift between us. I had to risk getting arrested and I left Bucky in cryo because I was foaming at the mouth to come back and make things right with you.

“And do you think Bucky is as put together as he is now only because of me? _No._ Bucky is doing as well as he is doing right now largely because of you, Tony— _you_ happened to us—to both of us,” explained Steve. “We once spent an _entire_ date night talking incessantly about _you_. Now, if those aren’t enough reasons why we need you with us, I don’t know what else are there,” remarked the blonde.

“When we crash and burn, it’s not going to be pretty. _It’s not worth it_ , destroying what you have for this! I can give you a _thousand_ reasons why this isn’t going to work.” Tony fearlessly challenged.

“We’re going to be here awhile then,” Bucky interjected. “Because me and Stevie can give you just as many reasons, _each_ , why it will. And you’re right—it’s probably not always going to be pretty because—yeah, have you met us?—but it’ll be worth it because we will work our asses off to make it work. And we’ll damn well make it work because you’re worth it, Tony.”

“Complete us,” Steve practically begged. He wasn’t above begging, if it meant he got to keep Tony and Bucky, if it meant they could try and surprise themselves everyday with how beautiful they could be together. “And let us complete you.”

But Tony’s demons and fears were proving themselves persistent sonsabitches. “Poly relationships need _communication_ to work and we’re about as good at communicating as kindergartners are good at driving in the freeway. It’d be like an accident waiting to happen.”

“We might not be good at it, but we can be _better_. We can be better, together.” Steve was not going to let this rest until they were all blue in the face and Tony was on board this bad idea with him and Bucky.

“How about this,” Bucky interrupted before Tony could think of any more reasons to dissuade them from this. “Let me and Steve give you one reason, each, why this is a _good_ bad idea… Come on, T—surely you can humor us? One reason for me and one reason for Stevie. If we can’t convince you, and you still want out, then we walk away and we won’t bring this up again. How about it?”

Tony huffed petulantly but shrugged his by-your-leave.

Bucky darted a tongue to his lower lip, fighting down a smile, and motioned for Steve to have a go at persuading Tony with his one reason first. Steve marveled at their good fortune that Tony even let them.

The Captain didn’t need to be cajoled further because he’d been dying to do this since Tony stumbled into the cabana. He stepped up right in front of Tony, invading the genius’ personal space, stroked the side of Tony’s face delighting his fingertips with the soft tendrils of Tony’s hair above his ear, before cupping the back of the man’s head and devouring those lips with gusto.

Tony, at first, resisted, only to melt into the touch and into the kiss. Perhaps he was remembering memories of another time and place, of another Steve… But _this_ Steve didn’t mind and couldn’t care less what Tony’s reasons for succumbing were. What mattered was Tony was here in his arms and Steve had a chance to show him how much he loved him. In the distinct and unique way that only _this_ Steve Rogers of this universe could.

Every nerve ending in Steve’s body was on fire, and Tony was only touching him at the first hip point, scrunching at the hem of Steve’s shirt—undecided if he wanted to push Steve away or pull him in further.

He poured everything he wanted to say in that kiss, that exploration of tongues and lips and teeth. He made sure to say his apologies, express his fervent desire and his hopes. From where he was standing, as intrusive into the genius-billionaire’s personal space as it was possible to be without having to climb and cling to the man like he was a damn tree, Steve thought the kiss was a good mix of mind-numbingly heated, passionate, needy, and giving. Steve couldn’t stop thinking of what it would have felt like to kiss Tony with his signature van dyke, but he supposed it didn’t matter. It was going to grow back, and Steve intended to keep kissing Tony all day, every day until it did. Until way past it turning chest-length and white and wispy. For as long as Tony would have him.

He could have had his lips glued to Tony's until daybreak, but he broke the kiss with one lingering nip to the other man’s plump lower lip to let Bucky have his turn with _persuading_ the genius, and maybe kiss away any remaining doubts still bubbling in Tony’s throat. The genius craned his neck to chase after Steve’s lips in a passion-addled haze, but realizing where he was and what it was they’d been doing, collected himself again into what passed for a decorous man who’d just had the breath kissed out of him.

But he didn’t even have ten seconds to get his wits together before it was Bucky lapping at his mouth like a dying man chasing after his last breath. Steve watched, captivated, as Tony’s head was cradled between Bucky’s hands and their bodies were flush against each other from chest to knee. Bucky withdrew his hands from the sides of Tony’s head to trace down Tony’s arms and tenderly grasp at the genius’ hands that didn’t know whether to flail helplessly in the air or to clutch at the fabric of Bucky’s shirt’s hem. Bucky entwined their fingers together—Bucky’s right with Tony’s left and Tony’s right with Bucky’s cybernetic hand—and then guided the genius’ arms to wrap around his neck. After which Bucky sneaked a brush of his fingertips against the skin between Tony’s shirt hem and waistband that made the other brunette groan lasciviously against Bucky’s mouth.

Then, it, too, was over, leaving Tony a near-breathless wreck against the fixed counter, eyes glassy and lips tender with the super soldiers’ exuberant kisses.

“You devious little shits,” Tony reproached with an amused shake of his head, after getting some of his breath back. “Next thing you’re going to do is utterly ruin this moment by plying me with more of those _together_ speeches again until I cave, aren’t you?” Tony asked before continuing, “we’re going to have to figure out how not to set ourselves on fire somehow.”

“What are you talking about? We’re already on fire,” Bucky joked with a salacious lick of his lower lip before reaching out to take Tony’s hand in his. “So… does this mean our arguments managed to convince the jury?”

“Are you _sure_ this is what you want?” Tony answered Bucky’s question with his own, directed at both of them. Worry and doubt still tinged Tony’s warm eyes and affectionate voice, so much so that Steve could hear the unspoken question there: _are you sure I am what you want when you already have each other?_

“I know what I want, and Bucky does, too. _You_ are what we want. This—the three of us—is what we want,” Steve assured the slighter man. “What do _you_ want, Tony?” Steve wanted to steel himself for a letdown, but a greater part of him just wanted to put the words in Tony’s mouth that he was willing to give them—this—a chance.

Tony groaned in half-hearted complaint. “This is _not_ gonna end well,” he foreshadowed, but audibly exhaling through the nose, resolved evenly, “but as someone as smart as me once said: try and fail, but don’t fail to try. Right?” And Steve was suddenly so happy and excited for the rest of his life, he was practically buzzing where he stood.

For the time being, Tony seemed to be on-board if his small but amused smile was anything to go by. That was all that Bucky and Steve wanted, really. There was fear there—apprehension, that this was fated to go down in flames, reducing all three of their hearts into ashes.

 _But_ there was also courage and conviction mixed in there. That if there was anyone out there who could show the world that they could make the three of them work, it was Tony, Bucky and him. The three of them, individually, had endured so much, had gotten through so much to come out at the other side—wearier but wiser. Steve could scarcely begin to imagine how beautiful they could be together.

It wasn’t going to be easy or perfect—they were all in agreement there—but every day it _was_ , Steve was certain, would make the days it wasn’t, bloody fucking worth it.

Steve chuckled in response, before giving each of his boys a fond kiss on the temple. Bucky first, and when he went and gave Tony a peck, he murmured, in a tone managing to be both sweet and menacing, “hmm… But if you think for one second I’ve forgotten that we’re still supposed to discuss what you did to deal with Ross, then you have another thing coming, Tony Stark.”

Tony groaned again.


	40. 40. BUCKY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our three boys seem to be getting the hang of this relationship thing...or do they? There still seems to be some kind of trouble brewing in paradise. Can they manage to work it out or will it be hit-and-miss for this trio after everything they've been through? 
> 
> This is the conclusion to the epic journey of Steve, Tony and Bucky that took them from the ruins of a Civil War on the road to forgiveness, friendship...and love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can keep apologizing for the delay or I can simply put you, guys, out of your misery by presenting the final chapter of Love of Ours! It's been an awesome year with you guys keeping me company with every update, and now it's finally done and over with!!!! (cheering and fist-pumping all around)
> 
> I did what I promised I would do, we have three-way smut that you can opt not to read if you feel like the story doesn't really need it (it's literally accessible only by clicking a link and it's not part of the chapter itself), but personally, I feel like it's pretty tame and more fluffy than smutty anyway, so you might want to skim it for old time's sake *wink wink*
> 
> I will still love you forever if you leave me with your feedback if only for the last time (in this story), so hit those Comment and Kudos buttons for me! Consider it your uber-belated birthday gift to me! Advance Happy Halloween, everyone, and I *will* see you guys again very soon!!!!
> 
> P.S. The idea of a "throuple" was kindly supplied by SeleneMoon and the book Steve reads here is a real one. In point of fact, I am reading it myself, right now! ^_^
> 
> Enjoy the finale!  
> \---

As it turned out, there really _was_ a plan on Ross’ drawing board for some kind of hit on Tony. At least, that was the gist of the very catchy tune that a middle management guy in an up-and-coming terrorist organization based in Syria ended up belting out to before the Interpol. That revelation, coupled with a press conference where Tony disclosed that his help had been engaged by new Avenger, Dr. Strange, to deal with supernatural, hush-hush and potentially world-threatening stuff that left him indisposed and otherwise unawares of what had transpired during his absence, all made it somehow reasonable for him to have missed his speaking engagement before the UN and to have made his other teammates and his company’s CEO think the worst. And hey—considering that it would appear like the vanishing act lent to Tony’s evasion of another attempt to abduct and harm him, all in the nick of time and by the skin of his teeth, the world could very well breathe a proverbial sigh of collective relief that one of its superheroes resurfaced relatively unharmed.

Although one or two media outfits made particular mention of Tony’s signature van dyke _not_ having escaped whatever purge it was the man had narrowly survived, in wherever the hell it was he had vanished to for a little over a week—

Of course, there _were_ still the occasional hard-to-please, strategically placed people who voiced out their criticisms and suspicions about Tony Stark’s disappearance and subsequent reemergence—most of which were known political allies and personal friends of Thaddeus Ross—in effort to divert attention away from the exposés about and left-and-right investigations on the general. After all, there was no way to be able to please everyone. But for the most part, any latent questions regarding the circumstances of Tony’s disappearance were easily nudged toward the shadows in favor of Thaddeus Ross in the limelight. And the Avengers and the SI PR team were only too happy about the recent developments.

Steve’s strong-worded lecture complete with a _Captain-America-Is-Very-Disappointed-In-You_ expression actually had nothing on the thorough chewing-out that Tony ended up getting from the combined forces of Jim, Pepper, Peter and Happy Hogan that Bucky absolutely pitied the genius-billionaire by the third hour of the said chewing-out. Who knew that prim-and-proper and otherwise very dignified Jim Rhodes knew so many cuss words and threats of disembowelment—one more colorful than the last?!

Bucky made sure to take Tony out for some ice cream as a pick-me-up after that episode for which the latter didn’t scrimp on his appreciation to the former. Bucky, for his part, was just happy to be spending time with Tony as his boyfriend—

Well— _one_ of Tony’s boyfriends, at least. Bucky was just plain excited for the rest of their lives to begin together: Tony, Steve and him. All three of them.

If Bucky was expecting for a lot of things to change now that they’ve decided to have a three-way relationship, he was kind of surprised to find out that things actually stayed pretty constant and stable between them:

Steve and Tony were still around to give him much needed emotional support for the deprogramming reinforcement sessions, each holding a hand to give comfort to their beloved who was under stress; he and Steve were still pretty much permanent fixtures in Tony’s workshop, individually and together—Bucky still asked his usual curious questions which Tony always patiently answered, and Steve still did his art thing on the battered couch with a relentless and serene smile of fondness emblazoned on his face; the three of them still sat together, pressed against each other, on that damn love seat for the past two movie nights; they ate meals sitting right next to each other around the dining table; they hung out together as often as they could squeeze in between Steve and Tony’s consultancy stints at SHIELD HQ, team training, Bucky’s catch-up with Avengers’ procedures and protocol, minor emergencies that needed the Avengers’ attention, and everything else occupying the day-to-day itineraries of two superheroes and a recovering POW-slash-superhero-in-training, even if it only meant a picnic in the grounds, or a cuddle on the couch, or a board game in Bucky’s bedroom, or a raucous karaoke session in the living area.

In the _century_ since he was born, Bucky could readily say that he’d never been more inspired and happy with his life more than he was right now. It was as if all the bad things that had happened to him were being recompensed at a ratio of a hundred nice things for every bad thing in his past. He felt so damn blessed to have found both Tony _and_ Steve that he would often catch himself with a smile on his face for absolutely no fucking reason but that he was simply happy.

It couldn’t be helped though that there were times when his own happiness scared the shit out of him, thinking that no one deserved to be _this_ happy without a price—and with how his life was just really a series of unfortunate events intermingled with the need to pee, he dreaded to think that there was no way his happiness could last. That sooner or later the other shoe was going to drop.

He sometimes woke up in the middle of the night in cold sweat, thinking that his time together with Steve and Tony was just a dream and that he was back in that dingy and forbidding room in HYDRA’s Siberian facility, getting his precious memories wiped out little by little. But realization would flood through his soul again when, reaching for what he was expecting to be an empty and cold bedside, Steve’s prostrate body would be there, warm and asleep. But _there_. And Bucky would sink back down on the mattress and snuggle against Steve’s warm presence until their limbs were so tangled with each other’s that it was unclear where one ended and one began. And he would fall back asleep with Steve’s warm lips murmuring sweet nothings against the shell of his ear.

The following morning, Bucky would race to the workshop to find Tony slumped on whatever project he was currently working on, looking so much younger and calmer than when he was awake and sciencing up a storm. Bucky would proceed to wake Tony up with butterfly kisses on the other brunette’s face and a tray of warm food and a thermos of even warmer coffee. Tony would then hum a vaguely familiar tune and proceed to kiss Bucky’s breath and doubts away…

And Bucky knew everything would be all right. _He deserved this_. He deserved Steve _and_ Tony. After everything he’d been through, he believed that he deserved every bit of the happiness he was currently enjoying. He was perfectly content; there was nothing out there in the world left to covet for one Bucky Barnes—

Except that, there _was something_ …

Bucky was chewing on his lower lip, deep in thought, when he happened upon Steve leaning a hip point against the edge of the granite kitchen counter, engrossed in a paperback book. The blonde was absent-mindedly stirring a mug of some hot concoction with one hand while clutching his book in the other.

“ _More Than Two: A Practical Guide to Ethical Polyamory_ ,” Bucky read the title on the cover out loud, intruding into Steve’s focus. Disquiet momentarily forgotten, Bucky playfully knocked his hip against Steve’s and leaned against the counter, beside the blonde before crossing his arms over his chest. “Thought you oughta educate yourself on what we’re trying to achieve here, dintcha?” He smirked at the visible embarrassment on Steve’s face.

“I’m just interested to know how others in the same set up deal with the… _negotiations_ that come with this kind of relationship,” Steve explained, marking his place in the book and gingerly placing it beside his cup on the counter. “I don’t want to cock it up by being a suspicious or needy ass. We are, all of us, supposed to be equal in this relationship after all.”

“But don’t _overthink_ it, though, Stevie—sometimes, we just gotta go with the flow. I mean, Tony’s a damn _genius_ ; you’re a World War II strategist; and I’m trained to be a deadly—and _paranoid_ —spy-liquidator by an organization that thrived on covert infiltration. Between the three of us, overthinking is as natural as breathing,” pointed Bucky out. “But we just gotta be open, communicative and proactive ‘bout this and I’ve no doubts that we can make this—this _threesome_ work—“

“— _throuple_ ,” Steve interjected, eloquently, sneaking a sip of his hot drink.

“What?” Bucky asked, forehead crumpling questioningly.

“A _threesome_ is a purely sexual encounter involving three individuals while a _throuple_ indicates a close romantic bond shared by three human beings, _although_ a throuple may well be physically intimate together also, the relationship doesn’t only exist in the bedroom,” Steve stated matter-of-factly. “I thought I’d catch up with you on some _reading_ ,” he shrugged in reply at Bucky’s raised eyebrow that conveyed both amusement and fascination.

“That’s…good to know,” Bucky admitted, lips twitching into a half-smirk, which he tried to wrestle off his face lest Steve accuse him of making fun of the blonde’s diligence when it came to wanting to understand and do right by what exactly it was they were trying to accomplish between the three of them. “Actually… now that you mention _physical intimacy_ …” Bucky hesitated, falling into seriousness all of a sudden.

There _was_ nothing left for Bucky to want. Save for _one_ :

It bothered him immensely that Tony seemed to find it uncomfortable to go beyond kisses and cuddles with Bucky, by himself, and with Bucky and Steve, together. And Bucky just about burned with curiosity if Steve and Tony, when they were by themselves, had the same… _issue_. Or maybe, Tony just had an issue with getting overly frisky with _him_ but not with Steve?

Bucky’d really rather not have this insecurity fester in him without voicing it out to his boyfriends somehow, since they swore to try to do better at this communication thing to make their relationship work. So there he was, gritting his teeth to talk to Steve about it. He hoped that Tony’s behavior toward him was all just in his head, but at that moment, he didn’t know what it was he would rather hear: that Tony was not similarly reserved towards Steve, which meant that Tony wasn’t feeling like he was the third wheel in this relationship and that it was only with Bucky that he felt the heebie-jeebies; or that Tony was also aloof towards Steve, which meant he didn’t think he was Steve and Bucky’s equal in this relationship at all, preferring to keep them both at arm’s length in case the two super soldiers suddenly realized they didn’t have need for Tony after all.

Bucky didn’t know which would crush him more.

Breathing a deep sigh and squaring his shoulders like he was steeling himself for the gallows, Bucky asked, “have you noticed that Tony doesn’t seem to want to be more physically intimate than sharing a few kisses here and there and cuddling together? Or… is he just like that when… _I’m_ around?” Bucky dreaded the answer to the point that he actually felt like the back of his neck had just been doused by ice-cold water, but at the same time, he burned to know.

The former Sergeant knew and perfectly understood, really, that because of Tony’s memories courtesy of the other universe, it was with _Steve_ that the genius was more familiar and comfortable with in terms of intimacy.

Steve’s forehead wrinkled and his light brown brows visibly furrowed, his expression a mix of disquieted surprise and concern. “Hmm, I thought I’m the only one who noticed that. And _no_ , Buck—he’s not like that because of you. _I_ thought he was aloof and shifty because of _me_ —because at his very core he hasn’t completely forgotten our complicated history even though he said he’s already forgiven me,” Steve said dejectedly. “Or that he’s still painfully reminded of his husband every time he had to be intimate with me.”

“So, you and he aren’t sweating up the sheets when I ain’t got eyes on you?” Bucky asked, jokingly. He reassessed the wisdom of making that out to be a joke with Steve when all he got in reply was an exasperated smack at the back of the head.

“Not for lack of trying on my part, to be honest, but no. We aren’t. For what it’s worth, though, I really thought _you and he_ were doing the dirty every time it was just the two of you together,” answered Steve with not a small amount of guilt that he really thought that of his two beloved. “Just to be clear, though—Buck, _I don’t mind_ if you and Tony do something intimate—just the two of you. But it was really doing a number on me thinking Tony was comfortable enough to do that with you _but not with me_.”

Yeah, no—this was _bad_. This was _really_ bad. Goodness knows what was running in Tony’s mind about what Steve and Bucky got up to when _they_ were alone together; Tony was probably still thinking—no, _anticipating_ —that Steve and Bucky would just one day change their minds about wanting to be a throuple with him so he was sneakily distancing himself from the two super soldiers!

While it was true that Steve and Bucky had no reservations about experimenting to explore and discover each other’s physical and sexual quirks and preferences, they were yet to go beyond the point of no return when it came to sex. They’ve had their hands and mouths on each other, but nothing beyond that. It was because the both of them had talked about it and vowed that if they were going to aim for the pinnacle of physical intimacy, then it ought to be with _all three of them_ together, giving each other pleasure and expressing how much they adored each other—body, heart and soul. Call Steve and Bucky old-fashioned, but they didn’t think it was too much to ask for _Tony_ to be with them when they crossed that line.

And wait for Tony, they would.

“Clearly, we need to learn more about _effective communication_ when the doubts are flying left and right and we’ve only been at this for—what—almost a _month_?” Bucky clucked his tongue, chastising both himself and Steve for their unvoiced reservations. “Tony still probably has it in him that we’d just wake up one day and change our minds about him—and just… leave ‘im hangin’.

“We gotta talk to him and—and reassure him somehow—“

“—and, what, sweet-talk him into being intimate with us? We can’t _force_ him if it’s something he’s uncomfortable with, Bucky—“

“—I’m not saying that we’re gonna _force_ him, Stevie, Jesus! I’m all about enthusiastic and informed conse—“

“—how is this effective communication when we’re already screaming each other’s heads off and fight—“

“—I can’t believe we’re arguing about this! All I’m saying is that maybe we need to work harder on convincing him his fears are baseless. What’s all that _reading_ for if we’d just end up—“

“—My, my, my—fighting already?” Tony’s amused voice interjected, effectively putting a halt to the burgeoning scream-fest between the resident super soldiers. “Can this still be considered our _first fight_ when I’m not part of whatever it is you got going on right here? Because if you tell me what you two are arguing about, I’m sure I can contribute my two cents in—make it more interesting. I’ve been told I have quite the natural talent to rile people up with just a few choice sarcastic quips,” joked Tony with his usual tongue-in-cheek facial expression, which, with his van dyke back to its former splendor, seemed like some kind of a trademark look.

“Tony—“ Steve began with just a tinge of _Captain-America-Is-Very-Disappointed-In-You_ tone.

“—We’re not fighting,” Bucky supplied, clearing the air. He gave Steve a sidelong glance to check that Steve was not about to contradict him on that. “We were just having a discussion,” he continued, giving Steve the eye to wordlessly convey that they were still going to talk about this later. Preferably when Tony wasn’t around so they could put their heads together and think about how best to address the genius’ latent insecurities about their budding relationship.

Shrugging with a noncommittal hum, Tony made a beeline for the coffee machine to refill his mug with his usual fix with Bucky trailing behind him with every intention of following the genius-billionaire back to the workshop to get a head start in reassuring Tony that he, and Steve for that matter, too, wouldn’t just abandon him like yesterday’s garbage. They love him; they were _in love_ with him. Bucky, for one, was crazy about him and would be completely lost without him.

He silently signaled towards Steve that they weren’t done talking about Tony’s hang-ups about their throuple thing and followed Tony out of the living area. “Hey, ‘s it OK if I hang out with you or are you busy?”

“That depends,” Tony said with a playful quirk of those beautiful lips of his. “Are you going to behave yourself?”

“Are _you_ going to do something that will make me _misbehave_?” Bucky bantered back, looking at Tony like a meat lover would a piece of choice-cut steak after three weeks of eating goat food.

“Well you know me,” Tony said with a definite mischievous twinkle in his honey-brown eyes. “I enjoy taking leisurely walks on the wild side.”

Let it not be said that Bucky did not try his damn hardest to behave for all of ten minutes while Tony talked his ear off about rewriting a programming language from scratch while he soldered delicate machine parts together with the kind of laser-like focus that Bucky knew he would ceaselessly find sexy when it came to Tony. He yearned to have that attention directed at him, enough to turn Bucky on, that he stalked towards where the other brunette was working, faster than a hungry lion to an oblivious gazelle, and pounced.

He thought about what he and Steve had discovered about Tony’s reservations regarding being intimate with them and was partially thankful that it was something he was confident he could rectify. Bucky was certain that with his and Steve’s combined charms, wiles and sincerity, they could convince Tony that there was nothing in the world they could want more than to build a life with Tony, love him and protect him with everything they had and that they would never, ever hurt him.

Because at the end of the day, Bucky knew that it would have infinitely hurt him more if he found out that Tony only had issues about being intimate with _him_. When being wrapped in, around and all over Tony was something Bucky dreamed about and craved so much, it fucking hurt.

“Hmmm, you smell good,” Bucky murmured, trailing butterfly kisses on Tony’s neck, starting from where neck met shoulder and ending on the shell of Tony’s left ear. He wasn’t saying that for lack of sexy things to say to get them in the mood, but because it was the God’s honest truth. Tony _did_ smell fucking fantastic. The heady mix of metal, clean sweat and Tony’s woodsy yet spicy cologne made Bucky want to lick the man all over until he was positively squirming in Bucky’s arms.

“What do I smell like?” Tony asked, craning his neck to the side to look at him and steal a peck against the side of Bucky’s face.

“Like something good enough to eat,” Bucky said, almost in a growl.

“I’m sorry but I don’t permit eating in the workshop,” Tony seductively tittered, turning on his heel to face Bucky squarely.

“Since when?” Bucky played along.

“ _Feeding_ me is fine,” Tony clarified with a twinkle in his eyes again. “Devouring me is another thing, entirely. I have to stop you right there, B.”

“You and whose army?” Bucky murmured, lowering his head to crush his lips against Tony’s. He was certain, also, that he would never get tired of this—of kissing Tony. Bucky would never get tired of showing his men how much he loved them. Bucky would never get tired of kissing Tony; much the same way that he would never get tired of kissing Steve.

Invading Tony’s personal space further, Bucky pressed his body against Tony’s and angled his head to deepen the kiss. God, he wanted to devour Tony, be consumed in the fire that was Tony’s body—that was _Tony_ —inside, around and all over Bucky. Surely, Tony had to want this as much as Bucky wanted it, too—

Pinning Tony against the edge of the metal table where the genius’ soldering work lay forgotten, Bucky pressed his thigh between Tony’s legs, against his groin, and felt the latter’s _unmistakable_ want. Tony was fucking turned on, too, and there was no way Bucky was going to let him retreat into his baseless insecurities. But, at the same time, he didn’t want to force Tony into something the latter was not wholly comfortable with.

When Tony started dry humping Bucky’s leg, the stockier brunette all but whined his own want. God, he wanted to kneel before the other man, put him in his mouth and blow him to within an inch of orgasm only to pull back and hold it off until it was deliciously painful for both of them. He wanted to taste Tony, to feel those work-calloused hand desperately combing through Bucky’s hair in confusion of whether to pull Bucky closer or push him and his mouth away, to bring Tony to orgasm and then to pull him close, wrap him in the reassuring warmth of Bucky’s presence and whisper sweet nothings in his ear.

Rinse and repeat. Because Tony _deserved_ it. Because Tony was fucking worth it.

And he and Steve would have to be fucking daft if they were to hurt this beautiful and adorable human being. Or leave him in the lurch. _No_. Not now that they’ve finally found him—that they’ve finally found each other…

Bucky traced a sure finger of his flesh hand down Tony’s abdomen with every intention of shoving his hand down the waist of the genius’ lounge pants and wrap his hand around Tony’s hardness when, just as he was a hair’s breadth away from the waist of Tony’s pants, the latter froze in his own pleasure-seeking ministrations and abruptly pushed Bucky off of him, breaking both the kiss and any plans on Bucky’s part to up the ante in the intimacy department.

“I—I,” Tony stammered, breathless. He was suddenly as restless as a caged tiger. Raking a hand through his dark brown locks, endearingly curling at the ends, Tony murmured, “I can’t, Buck. I… This isn’t a good idea. What would _Steve_ say?” Tony reasoned with a stop-right-there gesture.

“That he doesn’t mind.” Steve just said so, didn’t he? “But if you’re concerned about making Steve feel left out, we can always call him right now,” Bucky offered. The former Sergeant was dead-sure that if he said anything remotely suggestive to Steve about what was happening just five fucking minutes ago, the prim-and-proper Captain would put everything short of an impending world catastrophe on hold just to get his ass down there with Tony and Bucky as fast as what was fucking possible.

“This isn’t a good idea,” Tony repeated with a pained expression on his otherwise gorgeous face. “I—I don’t…I don’t think I’m ready for this right now,” he continued in a defeated voice, pulling away from Bucky entirely.

Bucky was expecting Tony to be a better liar than Steve.

Tony really wasn’t.

-0-0-0-

Bucky had to hand it to Steve and his tactical genius. He also had to give a lot of credit to the other Avengers who decided to pitch in when it came to implementing Steve’s Pretty Damn Brilliant Plan.

When Bucky went back to Steve with the gravest of faces after Tony had given him the subtle-not subtle rejection, the two super soldiers decided to put their heads together to think of something— _some plan_ —to reassure Tony that this wasn’t just some phase, that they were dead-serious about making their throuple work, that this wasn’t just some temporary, knee-jerk thing because it felt like a good idea at the time.

They also tried to recall all the dates they’ve had together and deconstructed them to the very minute if they could manage it—wanting to see if there was any time that they inadvertently talked about growing up together or the now-dead people they once knew, that maybe left Tony floundering in the conversation somehow, but they drew a blank. They always made sure to include Tony in the conversation, in the inside jokes, so they abstained from any form of nostalgia, preferring to focus on the here and now.

Bucky, after worrying his lip to the point of drawing blood, finally said, “I can’t think of what we coulda been doing wrong. So whatever stupid thing it was we accidentally did, we just have to make things right… We need to _woo_ Tony, Stevie. Like…wait on him hand and foot, flowers, dream dates, neck and foot massages, cooking for him— _the whole kit and caboodle_. We need to get it through to his monster-sized issues and insecurities and fears that we’re here to stay and that we ain’t giving up on being in a throuple with him!”

Bucky was going to damn well utilize _every available opportunity_ to use that fuckin’ word— _throuple_ —until he was red in the face and there was nothin’ nobody could do ‘bout that!

And then Steve had the mother of all bright ideas about taking Tony on a date with them—

To a _planetarium_ that Steve and Bucky would build from scratch themselves, with the three flesh and one bionic-cybernetic hands that they have between the two of them. And hopefully then, Tony would finally understand that he wasn’t going to be able to count Bucky and Steve out just like that.

It was to Bucky that Tony had told about the significance of the planetarium to him as a child, which Bucky then told Steve about. And Bucky really had to hand it to Steve to remember that little tidbit of information. “Didn’t you say before that Tony’s most memorable outing with the most impactful person of his childhood was _to a planetarium_? Why don’t we build him one in the garage and we could take him there and we could put sleeping bags on the ground and lie underneath the twinkling lights and the projection of the planets and we could eat fruits and cheeses and drink wine and play footsie and point out our favorite constellations and say ‘I love you’ to each other all night long…”

And that was exactly what they set out to do. They engaged the help of the other Avengers and FRIDAY to help them conceptualize and implement their DIY planetarium in the Avengers compound’s garage. They got Pepper and Happy in on the plan by having them whisk Tony off to Midtown for a couple of days to attend to some SI affairs, meetings with R&D and the company’s legal team, and they even got King T’Challa and some of his trusted staff and political advisors in on it somewhat by encouraging them to schedule Accords’ ratification-related meetings and consultations with Tony during those inclusive dates just to keep the genius off the facility for a bit longer and out of the loop about the DIY Planetarium sprouting up in the garage.

Both Steve and Bucky worked on their planetarium project like men possessed. They both knew exactly what they were doing this for. This project was not undertaken simply to get into Tony’s pants and have him relaxed enough for them to advance from innocent kisses and cuddles to a downright serious tumble in the hay, no. They were doing this to make Tony finally realize and understand how much he meant to the super soldiers. And if Bucky and Steve had to recreate the universe in their backyard for Tony to finally see that, then—what the hell—they would do it.

It took the two of them, working with the team on various stages of the project, some eight days to build a fully-functioning, scientifically-accurate but artsy geodesic dome planetarium from triangular PVC panels with an area that just about took up a quarter of the football field-sized garage. It was going to project representations of the constellations drawn by none other than Steve himself. It was also going to show them the hemispheres of stars and the solar system as if from a traveling spaceship. The speakers and the fans they rigged up in the structure were also going to lend to the illusion that they really were in the vastness of space.

Jim broached the possibility that Tony might freak out if he was reminded of the Chitauri wormhole, but both Steve and Bucky were confident that with them beside Tony, every step of the way, the genius-billionaire wouldn’t feel traumatized but _assured_ that he was never going to be that alone, ever again.

Because Steve and Bucky were with him ‘til the end of the line.

While Steve had his art to contribute to the planetarium project, Bucky had his cooking prowess.

The brunette super soldier learned how to bake croissants from scratch, whipped up home-made rolls, cheddar cheese and herbed cream cheese for the occasion. He improved on a cucumber-lemonade juice recipe and engaged the help of Nat and Scott to sample some wines in the city and choose the best-tasting one for their planetarium date. If he could’ve grown his own organic berry garden on a patch of land within the compound within eight days just to have some topnotch fruits to harvest on the night of their date and hand-feed to both Steve and Tony, he would’ve done it. But as they were pressed for time, he had to make do with the produce hand-picked from the nearest market.

On the day of the planned planetarium date, the rest of the team were on high alert in case of any emergency because they were prepared to pick up the slack from Steve, Bucky and Tony who were going to sit out any and all kinds of emergency that might crop up that day. They were careful to keep away from the garage and the residential building as well to give the three love birds as much alone-time as possible, without any chance of interference from them.

When Tony got back to the compound early on date day, it was Steve who cornered the former and levelly invited him to hang out with them later that day. That was good, too, as Bucky was too tongue-tied to supplement the invitation. He didn’t know what got him so nervous; perhaps it was because he wanted to be able to get through to Tony so very much. He supposed that one date would hardly cut it, but he wanted it to be a start anyway.

Getting Tony to agree in that cabana in Hawaii to give the three of them a chance was only a start, it was _keeping Tony_ with them—keeping the three of them together—that was what they have to work on every day, but Bucky, for his part, was ready to make his men fall in love with him every damn day, to fight and endure anything and everything with that precise goal in mind, including building an entire galaxy in the backyard. _Anything_ … if it meant the three of them could be together.

“So, where exactly are we going? Am I too underdressed or—?”

It was twilight and the three of them were meeting at the residential building’s foyer. In point of fact, Steve and Bucky had just come from the garage for their last-minute checks that everything they need was set-up properly. Satisfied that their project was prepped to specification, they walked back to the residential building to fetch Tony and walk with the latter to where their date would be held.

Tony looked like Christmas morning in his classic-cut black denim Levi’s, dark blue loafers, gray Henley and dark hoodie with the sleeves pushed up his forearms. He seemed to have taken advantage of his sojourn in Midtown by getting a haircut to trim the curling ends at the nape of his neck and against the shells of his ears. But there was a still quite a tuggable amount of hair at his crown that Bucky couldn’t help but imagine his fingers tangled in as Tony trailed kisses down his abdomen, down, down—

“No, you look perfect,” Steve assured, keeping Bucky’s less-than-wholesome thoughts from escalating, with his signature lop-sided grin that Bucky knew Tony always found distracting and bone-melting. “Let’s walk to the garage,” continued Steve, gesturing for Tony to keep pace with them.

“If you tell me where we’re going, I’m sure I can drive there,” Tony said, matter-of-factly. “We can take the silver Tesla—perfect time to break that baby in.”

“Oh we’re not driving,” Bucky, finally finding his voice despite his nervousness, said. The first fingers of excitement started to get hold of his insides. He hankered to see what Tony would look like once he saw their surprise for him.

“We’re walking to the garage because that’s where we’re set up for date night,” Steve contributed, an excited smile beginning to blossom on his boyishly handsome features.

“Date in the garage—how very… _original_ ,” Tony said, a doubtful look on his face, but not without a tinge of curiosity. “But since I missed you, boys, very much while I slaved away in Midtown, I’ll try to keep the judgment to a minimum,” he joked, smirking and reaching both of his hands out, one to Steve and one to Bucky, to thread their fingers together.

They walked the rest of the way to the garage in good spirits, talking about what exactly it was that Tony got up to while he was in Midtown.

Bucky interjected when Tony paused in his story-telling, “well, while you were there, we missed you very much, too, so we decided to use our super soldier stamina—,” and Tony sportingly bit a corner of his bottom lip at Bucky’s unintended innuendo, “—for a project that we wanted to surprise you with.”

As if on cue, the three men found themselves at the garage’s access door meant for people to use. Steve keyed in his personal access code and held the door open for their party. Tony and Bucky both got an eyeful of the dark interior of the space that held no clue whatsoever about what awaited Tony inside. Excitement mounted at the pit of Bucky’s stomach.

“By the way, we have to crawl in,” Steve informed, but before Tony could protest or criticize that it was most unusual to start date night crawling on all fours, the blonde continued, “so—I’ll go in first, and you follow me, Tony—OK? Bucky can go in last. Once you’re inside, just let my voice guide you and stay low, alright?”

“Is it too late to make reservations somewhere else?” Tony asked, more as a joke than something serious, but Bucky tugged at the genius’ earlobe in amused chastisement anyway.

“Not even the highest-reviewed restaurant can top this,” Bucky boasted with a smirk of his own before Tony sank to the ground on all fours right behind Steve with Bucky bringing up the rear.

Soon enough, the dimness of twilight was replaced by total darkness and the bite of hard ground against the skin of their palms and knees was replaced with the silken feel of sleeping bags laid out on the floor. “Lie down on floor beside me, Tony,” Steve directed, and Bucky could vaguely make out the figures of Steve and Tony in the darkness, shuffling around to lie side by side on the floor.

“Buck—where are you?” Tony called out in the darkness, to which Bucky’s only answer was to envelop his flesh hand around Tony’s in the dark as he, too, crawled to lie shoulder-to-shoulder on Tony’s right side.

When all of them were settled on top of the sleeping bags laid out on the ground, lying shoulder-to-shoulder and facing the inky black ceiling, Steve called out, “hit it, FRIDAY.” And the space that was previously dark erupted into color, golden light and magnificent figures of men, women and animals upon the domed ceiling. But neither Bucky nor Steve was looking at the representations of the constellations swimming around them because they were too enthralled with the wide-eyed but delighted surprise on Tony’s face, so much so that Bucky felt his heart jump to his throat.

If Bucky had already not been in love with Tony before, he would have fallen for Tony right at that moment, seeing that soft smile on the other brunette’s face and the blazing warmth of those honey-gold eyes. Hell, it was as if Bucky fell in love with Tony all over again. And when he found his lovestruck expression mirrored on Steve’s face, Bucky fell in love with _Steve_ all over again, too.

It was all so sappy that Bucky had to groan inwardly at his own thoughts; good Lord—when had he turned so sentimental?! He was supposed to be a bad-ass assassin-turned-superhero-in-training and yet at that very moment, all he wanted to do was cuddle with his men and bawl noisy, saccharine tears.

After a period of silence that none of them were able to keep track of, it was Tony who finally spoke. “ _Wow_ ,” he said, near breathlessly with eyes still glued to the figures in golden light flying around them. “How did…?” He started to ask but failed to get the entire question out.

“We built it,” answered Bucky as if building a fully-functioning geodesic dome planetarium that was a quarter of a football field in size, for over a week, with the help of a team of superheroes, was just your average everyday feat. “This was something special for you, and _you_ …are someone special to us. So…” Bucky concluded, motioning towards the dome with a proud flourish.

“Who else knows about this—that you were building this?” Tony choked through the question that time.

“Well, we asked for the team’s help because we had to complete it before you got back from Midtown, and they were all quite glad to pitch in when Buck and I said that we wanted to do this for you,” Steve explained, sitting up and pulling the wicker basket of picnic foods closer to them. Bucky got up to help sort the food he had lovingly prepared for the three of them. He was excited to have Tony try the croissant and the home-made cheeses with the wine. Above them, the representations of the constellations made way for the planets and the streaking comets and blazing nebulae.

“Why?” came Tony’s soft question when they were in the middle of inhaling their food. The question was feeble but nevertheless fraught with uncertainty. And fear.

“Why what?” Steve asked, momentarily confused.

“Why would you want to do this for me?” Tony asked with a brittle laugh, roaming his eyes at the humble but thoughtful gesture of building a backyard planetarium for date night. “Did you do something bad that you might need to be forgiven for? Or maybe, it’s something you’re _about to do_ that you want me to look the other way for? Or—or maybe you need something…like—like, I dunno, _new tech_ —”

“Wait…” Bucky interjected with a _hang-on-just-one-second_ gesture, realization slowly dawning on him on what Tony suspected this gesture was for. “You think we did this because we’re buttering you up because we need something from you?!”

“ _Everyone_ always needs something from me, Bucky,” Tony said in a matter-of-fact way, angling his head just so to keep his profile in shadow. “No one does grand gestures for _me_ ,” said Tony with not bit of bitterness and steel behind the words. “It’s always me who does the over-the-top shit for a regular date night. So… what is it? What do you boys need?” He injected the last five words with some teasing to make light of the implications of what he was _actually_ saying.

“We don’t need anythi—” Steve, aghast, started to say.

But Bucky cut him off. “—We need you to _be with us_ , Tony. We need you to stop thinking that we’re going to wake up one day and realize that we don’t need you around. We need you to consider yourself as an equal in this relationship and not as an afterthought, not as someone we’re just trying to butter up because we need something. We need you to understand that we are not going anywhere, that no matter how low and small you think of yourself, we don’t think that about you at all. No matter how many times you push us away, we’ll keep coming back. ‘Cause we like it here, _beside you_. There’s nowhere else we choose to be but here. We need your infinite genius to see that.

“ _I’m_ in love with you, Tony Stark. _Steve_ is in love with you. We’re staying with you, whether you choose to let us in completely or not. We will persist for as long as it takes, and _we are not going anywhere_. We need you to understand that. _That’s_ all we need from you,” Bucky pleaded, his voice breaking at some point because he so wanted Tony to see that. He never felt like killing each and every one who’d made Tony feel so small and inconsequential, more than he did at that moment.

Steve cleared his throat and bit his lips between his teeth, studying both Bucky’s and Tony’s faces. Before Tony could make light of the matter or crawl out of the planetarium in a huff, Steve decided to say his piece, too: “I know you just want to protect yourself from getting hurt again, Tony. And that’s…that’s _reasonable_. God knows we’ve hurt you in the past and we’re in a position right now to hurt you even more that we already have. And we aren’t perfect and no relationship is, which means there will be times that we will hurt you, though unintentional on our part, we probably will. But one thing we vow not to do is to hurt you by leading you on or playing with your feelings.

“It wasn’t just some whim on our part to ask you to be with us, you know; when we asked for a chance to be with you, we were prepared to take on everything that came with that—the good _and_ the bad. And what we had no way to prepare for, we’ll take on as they come, but we won’t give you up just like that.

“So, yeah—Bucky’s right, you can keep pushing us away, keep thinking that we’re doing these grand gestures because we need something, same as the seven billion other people out there who need something from Tony Stark. When, really, all we need from you…is for you to love us and for you to be there, so we can keep on loving you.”

Ah, Bucky had almost forgotten _Steve and his speeches_ , but the former Sergeant knew he couldn’t have said it better, himself. With the way Tony’s brown eyes were bright and glassy in the golden light of the planetarium’s overhead display, Bucky knew Tony had something to think about, too, after his and Steve’s voiced sentiments. Bucky’s amen to what Steve had said was to reach out and bring Tony’s free hand to his lips to kiss the knuckles.

No more reassurances were spoken after that, that Bucky could’ve sworn Steve had read it in his eyes that the time for words has passed. They focused instead on making Tony _feel_ how loved he really was. Steve and Bucky took turns entwining their fingers with Tony’s and having the latter’s head pillowed on one of their laps. When it was Bucky threading his fingers through Tony’s calloused digits, it was Steve’s lap that cradled Tony’s head. And when it was Steve’s dexterous fingers tracing patterns on Tony’s palm, it was Bucky’s lap that Tony used as a pillow with Bucky’s fingers lightly combing through Tony’s dark brown hair.

They pointed out their favorite constellations and stars, and Tony recited scientific facts about astronomical and astrological phenomena. They made up stories about why star formations looked the way they do. They joked about their teammates and related the other Avengers’ bad habits to their zodiac signs. They hand-fed each other with bread, cheeses and fruit, talked and laughed and snuggled into each other’s personal space well into the night.

True to their word, Steve and Bucky didn’t initiate any physical intimacy more than what all three of them had always been comfortable with—kisses, caresses and cuddles. Because they didn’t plan this night to be about that, but about reassuring Tony that they would take whatever it was he cared to give them. Physical intimacy could wait until Tony’s demons about Steve and Bucky’s real intentions were well and truly silenced.

It was already past one in the morning when the three men found themselves crawling back out of the garage to trudge back to the residential building and call it a night. They were still talking and laughing and tugging at each other’s hips as if they would never run out of things to talk about. “You know what—your little project is quite inspired that it just gave me an idea,” Tony announced, his earlier uncertainty and melancholy seemingly forgotten for the time being. “What do you, boys, think about getting our own planetarium-slash-observatory here in the compound?”

“Yeah? And how _exactly_ are we getting one?” Bucky asked with a raised brow.

“I’m going to _build_ one, of course,” Tony answered, rubbing his palms together in excitement. “I mean, we get enough extra-terrestrial visitors paying us unannounced visits, so we might as well construct something to serve as an early warning device of sorts. I’m thinking: star-mapping equipment and a complement of scientists-astronomers with a couple of high-powered telescopes with state-of-the-art filters, photometers and spectrometers,” Tony said, nodding towards Steve and Bucky to elicit their eager concurrences to his idea.

“Absolutely not,” Steve disagreed with a vehement shake of his head but with a fond sweep of his hand across Tony’s forehead to brush the fringe that had fallen over it.

Tony looked at Bucky with an over-the-top pout as if to get Bucky to take his side and see things his way. “I’m with _Stevie_ on this one, T. You already try to do so many things at once as it is, you don’t need another project that will keep you from spending time with us. I mean, if you have to construct an observatory here, how else will you still have time leftover to spend with us, huh?” Bucky challenged and he knew that that was the end of that discussion. He and Steve had won that round.

“Spoilsports,” muttered Tony which sounded louder than it actually was when spoken to an empty and dim living area in the residential building. It seemed that everyone had already retired to their respective rooms, in full acknowledgment of Steve and Bucky’s unvoiced request to give them full rein of the place for date night.

When they got to Tony’s bedroom’s door, the two perfect gentlemen each took Tony’s hands in theirs and squeezed, murmuring their _good night_ s, perfectly content with how their night was ending even when faced with the prospect of not having Tony in the same bed with them yet again. What _was_ important was that they got to tell Tony how they felt and Tony _actually_ listened to them without being dismissive or retreating into himself and avoiding having to deal with the aftermath of their talk.

Maybe they _were_ getting better at this communication thing? Well, Bucky could at least hope that they were…baby steps…

“I had a lot of fun,” Tony said with a shy smile that actually reached his eyes; it was obvious even in the softness of the hallway’s pin light and the sight of it made Bucky’s skin tingle. Tony bashfully bit his lower lip before pulling back his right arm, tugging Bucky closer to him, cradling the side of Bucky’s face and pressing their lips together for a chaste but memorable good night kiss. After kissing Bucky, Tony pulled his left arm back and did the same with Steve. “Thank you for tonight. Thank you for building the planetarium,” he said, his thumbs drawing soft circles on the hands he had in his grasp.

“You’re welcome, and we had a lot of fun, too,” Steve said with a close-mouthed smile of his own. “Get some rest, sweetheart, and we’ll see you tomorrow.”

“We love you, Tony,” Bucky said by way of follow-up, voice gravelly and deep. “Don’t ever forget it, OK? We love you.”

Tony smiled at them again, but this time, another emotion glinted momentarily in his eyes that was too quick for Bucky to appreciate before the slighter-built man was turning his back to them and pushing his bedroom door open.

The two super soldiers lingered by the doorway for a couple of heartbeats before they lumbered off to take their leave of Tony. However, they weren’t off the doorway quick enough and still managed to catch the genius’ quiet inquiry of: “ _how_ much?”

“What?”

“How much. Do you. Love me?” Tony asked them, enunciating the words as unambiguously as he could manage while standing on the other side of the doorway with his head cocked thoughtfully to the side. His eyes were both playful and intense. “Think you’re gonna need the whole night to show me?” Tony murmured alluringly before his tongue darted out of his mouth to lick at his lower lip.

“Tonight wasn’t even supposed to be about that,” Bucky replied, staring at Tony just as intensely. And it dawned on Bucky what it was that had flashed in Tony’s eyes earlier:

Tony was thinking about what had happened last week at the workshop, when Bucky had been _this_ close to falling on his knees in front of Tony, tearing at the genius’ lounge pants and giving a whole new meaning to the phrase _‘eating in the workshop’_.

“What if I want tonight to be about that?” Tony asked with a seductive smirk. “Are we still going to turn in early like good little boys or…are you both gonna come in and show me _exactly_ how much you love me?”

Bucky didn’t need enhanced senses to hear Steve gulp at that. He was surprised he even heard that above the thundering beats of his own heart in his ears. “We don’t want you to be pressured into something you’re not entirely comfortable with, Tony,” Steve uttered, practically tweezing the words through his gritted teeth. At least, the punk was still capable of speech! Which was more than Bucky could say for himself.

Tony languidly blinked those huge dark eyes twice and, pursing his lips in amusement and shrugging, said, “well I think you’ve made it pretty clear tonight that you’re not going anywhere, so that’s it. I’ve no more excuses left; I’m done. I’m done denying what I’ve wanted from day one. So, for the last time, are you boys gonna come in here or is our first time together gonna happen in the hallway? Your choice…”

Bucky angled his torso towards Steve to take his cue from the latter. Not that he couldn’t decide for himself where he wanted the rest of the night to go, but if Steve was going to put his foot down and insist that tonight wasn’t about _that_ at all, then Bucky, tough as it may be to follow Steve’s lead, could walk away from temptation, too, no matter how much he wanted to spend the night completely tangled in Tony.

 _Then again_ , didn’t they say they were going to let Tony decide their pace and they would be completely content in taking what Tony would deign to give them? Weren’t they duty-bound now (or something) to give Tony what he wanted?

If Bucky had bet on Steve to remain steadfast about the wholesome nature of tonight’s date night, he would’ve lost a considerable amount of betting money because Steve, growling under his breath, strode purposely into the room and practically tackled Tony to the nearest wall to be ravaged. Bucky, snorting, at Steve’s apparent lack of self-control and presence of mind, followed suit and actually remembered to swing the door closed and lock it. The rest of the residential building need not know what was about to go down, and Bucky had every intention of being as vocal as possible so, yeah, good of him to remember to shut the door.

When he turned away from the door and towards his two beloved, the sight of Steve and Tony in a passionate lip lock-slash-fight for dominance nearly made him moan out loud. No one was touching him yet but he could feel blood rushing down south with a force to rival that of a damn tidal wave. If merely watching Steve and Tony could reduce him to this, how else was he going to last the rest of the night? Some super soldier stamina he got, bleh—

“Don’t tell me you’re just going to stand there all night ogling at us,” Tony warned, pulling back from kissing Steve long enough to look at Bucky smolderingly.

Not trusting himself to speak, Bucky stepped closer to his men and claimed Tony’s lips for his own first before kissing Steve also over Tony’s shoulder. How many times he’d dreamed of this moment—to have both Steve and Tony pressed against him, lighting his skin on fire—he’d lost count.

Bucky couldn’t tell anymore whose hands were scrabbling for purchase on the waist of his jeans or on the hem of his shirt, whose lips were ghosting over his at any given time, whose touches were electrifying the skin on his forearms or on his neck. All he was aware of was the pleasurable tingling in his groin and the thundering of his heart.

“So…how do we want to do this?” It was Tony who asked. Bucky was surprised that the genius still had his mental faculties intact enough to ask, when all Bucky had attention for right now was sucking on air, waiting for where his next kiss was coming from.

“We should make a rule for this,” Steve answered, breathlessly tearing his lips away from Bucky.

“Really?! Now?” Tony protested, demonstrating that he kinda had his hands full—one was currently kneading at Bucky’s ass while the other was hell-bent on destroying the zipper on Steve’s jeans. “OK—yeah, let’s hear this rule, Cap.”

“We each take turns directing how things will happen when we’re together—in the interest of fairness and equality,” Steve said, nibbling at Tony’s earlobe in between his words.

“Whose turn is it tonight then?” Tony asked with not a bit of urgency. Especially since Bucky’d already figured out how to work the slighter-built man’s belt buckle, pop his jeans’ button open and slide the fly down, all in one fell swoop.

Sharing a meaningful though unspoken conversation with Bucky, Steve voiced the agreement the two super soldiers had quickly arrived at, “how about if it’s _your_ turn tonight, Tony?” Well, they did say that tonight was about getting a head start on quieting Tony’s insecurities and relationship hang-ups, so it was just proper that it’d be Tony’s turn to direct how he wanted the rest of the night to go, right?

“I’m starting to really like this rule. Is it my birthday? Or has Christmas come early this year?” Tony asked with an eager gasp. “You’re _really_ leaving it to me to decide how we do this?”

“Well yeah, ‘cause we’re in your room and that, there, is your bed that we’re about ten seconds away from crawling into, naked,” Steve tittered, losing patience with Bucky’s button-up shirt and just tearing the whole thing off like it was made of paper.

“Caveman! I happen to like that shirt! That shirt looked good on Bucky!” Tony protested before harrumphing, “ _that’s_ your reason for giving me the reins tonight? ‘Cause it’s my _damn room_ —my damn bed—that we’re about to fuck in?! I was half-expecting something sappy—like, ‘cause that’s how much you love me, or something!”

“Oh that too—yeah, definitely,” Bucky finally found the faculties to join the conversational foreplay. “But it’s mainly because we’re in your room and we’d really rather not do this in the hallway,” joked Bucky, scrambling to get his torn top off, crumpling it into a ball and throwing it somewhere in the vicinity of the door. He loved the fit of that shirt, too, but it was kinda the last thing on his mind right now.

“And he speaks!” Tony teased. “For a second there, B, I thought you might be having second thoughts about making our evening more interesting,” Tony said, nuzzling Bucky’s rough jaw with his nose and nipping at the chin.

“I was just trying to get my wits about me that we’re really doing this,” answered Bucky, kissing Steve’s and then Tony’s temple, chastely. “So how about it, gorgeous? You have the reins in your hands tonight. How do you want us?” He asked as seductively as he could manage.

Bucky inwardly chuckled at the elated expression on Tony’s face that seemed as if he was just told that he had sole and full permission to go crazy testing some completely unknown scientific equipment.

Without any reservations whatsoever, Tony invaded Bucky’s personal space and, with eyes completely blown with lust, purred against Bucky’s ear, “I want to make love to you, Bucky, while Steve makes love to me.” Bucky actually shivered in anticipation and a moan inadvertently escaped his lips. Let it not be said that Tony Stark had any compunctions about expressing what exactly it was he wanted...

[FOLLOW THE LINK FOR SOME SMUT!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12454341)

They didn’t know how long they lay there, spent and unmoving, three deep atop Tony’s bed before Steve heaved himself up, detaching himself from Tony’s back, to hobble to the bathroom, presumably to get something to clean themselves with. Ah good ol’ Stevie, always the mother-hen and looking out for his babies…

“Nnnghh,” incoherently groaned Tony, around whom Bucky was still tangled like an extra-clingy octopus. “Just…give me two minutes,” panted the genius, barely twitching on Bucky’s chest.

“What? Two minutes and you can go again?!” Bucky asked with a small amused smile, craning his neck to be able to see Tony’s profile at least, half-hidden on his chest.

“ _Fuck no_! I meant two minutes and I can probably wiggle my _big toe_ at least—get some movement going,” mumbled Tony. “Not all of us in this throuple have super soldier constitutions.”

Bucky gave a start at Tony’s use of the word. “You know about the throuple…”

“’Course I do—I’m _in one_ , aren’t I?” Tony remarked with a voice, even and quiet, though still a bit more breathless.

“You OK?” Bucky asked, craning his neck again to look at Tony’s face pasted on his chest, more closely.

“Yeah—I’ll just—,” he inhaled and exhaled to try to get his breath back. “I think I’ll be sleeping for the next two days, and you can tell the front desk not to bother with a wake-up call.

“Fuck—that was some cardio, right there. My gym trainer will give me some kind of award, for sure,” Tony said, marveling at what they’d just done. “And you actually thought I could go again after two minutes… _motherfu_ —you, boys, will be the death of me…”

“It can’t always be your turn, now, can it?” Bucky remarked, low and seductive. “Now, I can’t wait until it’s _my_ turn.” And with that, Bucky heaved again and crab-crawled nearer to the head board with Tony’s spent body cradled against him. He silenced Tony’s protests that he could move himself in a couple more seconds by brushing sweat-slicked brown-black hair off the genius-billionaire’s forehead. “I’m just making us more comfortable.”

Steve then came toward them, still in his naked glory, armed with two small towels that were wet with warm water. He sat by the edge of the bed and began to clean his lovers’ groins and backsides with a warm towel each, a fond and sated smile pasted on his face.

“Hmmm, aftercare—‘s nice,” purred Tony, mustering what strength he was able to get back and caressing Steve’s bicep. “I could definitely get used to this.”

“It can’t always be your turn, sweetheart,” teased Steve with a flick of a finger against the tip of Tony’s nose.

“Why does _that_ always come up?” Tony said with an unimpressed hum. “I’m starting to hate that rule—”

“—no, you don’t,” Bucky interrupted, kissing Steve’s knuckles and then Tony’s shoulder.

“Yeah, no—I don’t,” admitted Tony. “By the way, I’m just gonna rest my eyes for a while. Night’s not over yet and it’s _still_ my damn turn,” Tony petulantly mumbled, throwing his legs over Bucky’s body as if the latter was a full-body bolster while his right hand was still clutching tightly at Steve’s like he was going to evaporate if Tony loosened his grip.

“Get some sleep, sweetheart,” Steve murmured and kissed the side of Tony’s head.

“You’re staying here with me tonight, right?” Tony asked, feebly, tightening his grip on his super soldiers if that was even possible, even though his eyes were already lazily blinking closed. He reminded Bucky of a child craving for love and attention.

“We’re not going anywhere, remember?” Bucky confirmed, throwing his own arms over Tony’s body and reaching for Steve, who was already settling down on Tony’s other side.

After what felt like a very short nap, Bucky awoke feeling bereft and cold. It was still pretty dark out so he knew he couldn’t have slept more than an hour. He sat up on his elbows and looked to his side to find the space empty; Tony was no longer there. Steve, though, was still fast asleep on his stomach, facing the same Tony-less space with his right arm thrown over the patch of bed where Tony was supposed to be as if he was feeling just as bereft as Bucky in his sleep.

Before he could call out for Tony and wake Steve in the process, the bathroom door opened soundlessly and out came a disheveled but awake Tony, clad only in black boxers riding low on his hips. “Hey…I’m sorry, did I wake you up?” He ruefully asked, raking a hand through his tousled hair that even in its untidiness was undeniably sexy.

“I just wondered where you were.”

“I really had to pee and I didn’t want to wake you with my fidgeting. I’m sorry if I woke you up,” apologized Tony again. “You feeling OK?” Tony asked, motioning for Bucky to scoot over and take the patty position in their little man-sandwich.

“Shouldn’t _I_ be asking _you_ that?” Bucky replied with another question, snuggling against Steve while Tony cuddled against him. “Steve _can_ get a bit overexcited; you saw what he did to my shirt?”

“Hmm, I was being gentle; I was holding back,” mumbled Steve, getting his wits about him in time to defend himself. “Besides, _I_ wasn’t the one who shredded the bedsheet into ribbons.”

“Wait,” Tony sat up on his elbow to look at Steve, accusingly, over Bucky’s shoulder. “You were _holding back_? Not cool, Cap,” protested Tony, latching on to Steve’s admission rather than the state of where they were sleeping. “You were pounding Bucky into the damn mattress _through me_ and you were holding back the entire time?!”

“I didn’t want to be too rough with you, Tony—”

“—just you wait until it’s _my_ turn again—”

“—will surely notice that something’s happened if you have to eat standing up for a week!—”

“— _overestimating_ yourself already—”

“—still not a prude, Tony—”

“—holding back on me like I’m not fucking _Iron Man_ , like I’m made of _damn glass_!—”

“What is this—our _second_ fight? Or are we still at first?” Bucky interrupted, amused as he observed the two ‘discuss’ as if he watching a bloody tennis match. That got Steve to shut up and Tony to huff like an insulted diva.

“I know you’re not made of glass, Tony, and maybe _‘holding back’_ is not the right term. I just wanted it to be good for you, too. I didn’t want to be after just my own pleasure but yours as well,” Steve said quietly, reaching for Tony’s hand that was loosely placed on Bucky’s hip and caressing the back of it with his thumb.

Bucky saw the slight annoyance seep out of Tony to be replaced by amusement and fondness again. “I know that, you big lug. I just don’t like the idea of you putting my pleasure ahead of yours. We’re supposed to be equals in this relationship, remember? You said so, yourself. So you don’t have to do that, OK? You don’t have to put me or Bucky first before yourself. We’re big boys; we can look out for ourselves. And this is not just when we’re in the bedroom.

“We don’t exactly have a 9-5 job out there that the only thing capable of killing us is boredom. We’re _superheroes_. Injury and near-death experiences are part of the job description. But you have to trust us that we can hold our own and you don’t have to hold back to keep us from being hurt.

“But you know, it _is_ good to know that you’re also thinking about what would feel good for us. Just know that _your_ pleasure is _ours_ , too, Steve,” Tony said, leaning towards Steve to meet the latter halfway for a chaste but heartfelt kiss.

“And you know, since we really seem serious about doing this _communication thing_ , I’d like to say sorry for what happened last week at the workshop, Bucky, and for what happened at the Command Center eleven days ago, Steve,” Tony said with a grounding exhale, threading his fingers with Bucky’s on the latter’s hip.

Well, Bucky was fully aware of what happened at Tony’s workshop last week… “Why—what happened at the Command Center between you two?”

“Same thing that happened between the two of you at the workshop,” Steve sheepishly admitted. “I _did_ tell you that Tony and I weren’t physically intimate but not for lack of trying on my part. ‘Cause yeah that was me trying.”

“And I practically gave him a kick in the nuts to talk him out of it,” Tony revealed. “Like the stunt I pulled with you, Buck.”

Bucky wanted to wolf-whistle because, _yeah_ —Bucky really, _really_ loved Steve’s naughty side, all right! But he never pegged Steve to go for getting frisky in the _Command Center_ where anyone from the team could have just walked in on them, too! He went for an _OK-I’m-impressed_ face. “The _Command Center_ , though, Stevie—you dirty boy! Natasha would’ve _castrated_ you both if she’d walked in right in the middle of that!”

“I had FRIDAY on lookout,” reasoned Steve, like that was the damn solution for everything. “Point is—nothing happened that Nat would’ve castrated us for—”

“—and yeah— _my fault_. I’m really sorry for that.” Tony was pensive and apologetic at the same time for the time they had wasted because of his self-doubt.

“Not your fault,” assured Bucky, brushing strands of Tony’s hair off his forehead again. “You were reasonably protecting your heart. You just needed time to trust us that we were dead-serious about being with you, Tony. I mean, yeah, the physical stuff is fucking phenomenal, don’t get me wrong. But it ain’t the only thing we’re after. We just wanted to have all of your heart. Like you already hold all of Steve’s. And all of mine.”

Tony’s eyes got fetchingly bright and glassy again and he bit his lower lip to get a hold of his emotions. “Love you, Bucky,” he whispered. No embellishments, no showboating. It was simply Tony’s truth.

“I love you, too.” A kiss to the crown of Tony’s head.

“Love you, Steve.”

“And _I_ love _you_ , Tony.” Butterfly kisses to Tony’s closed eyelids. “I love you, Buck—‘til the end of the line.”

“Love you until the end of the line, Stevie.” Kiss to the corner of Steve’s lips. Bucky pulled Steve’s arms closer around his torso, threading gentle metal fingers through Steve’s own digits, and threw his own flesh arm over Tony’s waist, fighting down the strongest urge to cry, primarily because he didn’t want to have to suffer through Tony teasing him about being a sentimental post-coital wreck.

It was only when Bucky was sure that Steve and Tony’s even breathing were because they had fallen back to sleep that Bucky allowed a tear to slide down the corner of his eye.

Of all his fuck-ups, he _must_ have done something right to deserve to be in the arms of these amazing men. It was true that they were far from perfect.

Tony was probably always going to be stubborn about things meant to make his life longer; he was probably always going to need constant reassurances that Steve and Bucky weren’t going to run off together and leave him behind; he was always probably going to feel insecure and small right at the back of his mind despite Steve and Bucky telling him otherwise; it was also possible that Tony would always have a part of him left over in the other universe, where it would always belong with the people he had grown to love there.

Steve was probably always going to be stubborn, old-fashioned and bossy for his own good; he was probably always going to wonder if Tony was happy with them or if Tony always meant to go back to the other universe, to that other Steve; he was probably always going to measure himself short against another him from another dimension; at the back of _his_ mind, he was probably always going to blame himself for Bucky and the train and HYDRA, and Tony and Ross and Siberia.

As for Bucky, he was probably always going to be dreading the monster lying in wait inside him despite Tony and Steve’s tireless love and support. Maybe he would never be recovered, but—like an alcoholic, just always _recovering_ , always only in the process of healing but never fully healed, his hold on his sanity and what makes him the person he was, challenged at every turn; he was probably always going to dread that Steve and Tony would wake up one day and realize that having him in their lives was too much baggage; he was probably always going to wonder what good it was he had done to deserve Steve and Tony’s love, forever wondering but never quite realizing how much he was worthy of all the happiness he could ever dream of.

Three jagged pieces of a puzzle that surprisingly yet seamlessly fit against each other. They _had_ each other. For better or for worse. After a long road, they had found each other.

And this love? This love of theirs would be their redemption.

 

 

 

-0-0-0- **FIN** -0-0-0-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \---  
> Thanks go to the regular commenters of the story! You guys were very inspiring and it has been the most wondrous of journeys to have met you all through Love of Ours! 
> 
> Again, it has been an amazing year for me, writing this. It's one that I will never forget because of your kind and uplifting words and comments and feedback that, at times, just made me laugh out loud despite the dreariness and monotony of real life. 
> 
> Now, I'm off to start new stories, pick up from where I left off in the other WIPs; I have a new job, which I am reporting to in a few days and I'm really excited and hopeful for the promise that the future holds! I wish y'all the best and I hope to talk to y'all again in your stories, in my stories, in other stories, so there... Let's make amazing stories of our lives, shall we? ^_^
> 
> Maraming, maraming salamat! (Thank you very, very much!) And catch you, guys, later!!!!
> 
> emeraldine087 out (for now)!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Love of Ours Alternate Ending](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12038574) by [SeleneMoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeleneMoon/pseuds/SeleneMoon)




End file.
